So this is what’s left.
Despite how it looks,
What it is
Is much different.
This beautiful place,
A pharmaceutical wasteland.
Flowing through it, is a toxic river
Slowly eroding the tunnels through which it runs.
Overcoming already the few bridges that existed.
Now they lie crumbled and broken.
Once it was thriving,
Now, barely surviving
The factories run,
But they do not function
The government gave up
And have all gone away
There is no worship at the temple.
The beauty remains but the promise is gone.
The hope has all faded,
Maybe it's easier to NOT carry on.
What have we done?
Lying in silence,
Forgotten but not gone.
It sits,
Waiting for nothing.
Wishing for no one.
Wanting no more.
This land is my life,
This place, is my body.
I drank too much.
Took too many pills.
And this is what’s left.
What have I done?
Author Bio:
Jenn Mena has been inspired by a life rich of experiences and a deep connection with the power of words. Born in California, her love for writing began at a very early age, even participating in writing contests before she was ten. Growing up it was exceptionally clear she was gifted with a very natural and remarkable way with words. Her life has been built on consistent change, requiring adaptation and resilience. Much like her life, her writing reflects a keen ability to become what is necessary for that moment, skillfully versatile and seemingly effortless. She now, finally, is guiding her life path towards my love of words, coming second only to the love of her phenomenal son and greatly supportive, equally talented partner. Still an emerging writer, there is great hope and expectations in what is to come of Jenn Mena.
Despite how it looks,
What it is
Is much different.
This beautiful place,
A pharmaceutical wasteland.
Flowing through it, is a toxic river
Slowly eroding the tunnels through which it runs.
Overcoming already the few bridges that existed.
Now they lie crumbled and broken.
Once it was thriving,
Now, barely surviving
The factories run,
But they do not function
The government gave up
And have all gone away
There is no worship at the temple.
The beauty remains but the promise is gone.
The hope has all faded,
Maybe it's easier to NOT carry on.
What have we done?
Lying in silence,
Forgotten but not gone.
It sits,
Waiting for nothing.
Wishing for no one.
Wanting no more.
This land is my life,
This place, is my body.
I drank too much.
Took too many pills.
And this is what’s left.
What have I done?
Author Bio:
Jenn Mena has been inspired by a life rich of experiences and a deep connection with the power of words. Born in California, her love for writing began at a very early age, even participating in writing contests before she was ten. Growing up it was exceptionally clear she was gifted with a very natural and remarkable way with words. Her life has been built on consistent change, requiring adaptation and resilience. Much like her life, her writing reflects a keen ability to become what is necessary for that moment, skillfully versatile and seemingly effortless. She now, finally, is guiding her life path towards my love of words, coming second only to the love of her phenomenal son and greatly supportive, equally talented partner. Still an emerging writer, there is great hope and expectations in what is to come of Jenn Mena.
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