A Year of Poems – Day 202

We spend our life on trifles
Until we have nothing left

People died…
now we eat berries with impunity
we keep animals behind fences
we pass the life work of explorers
as we fly our coaches overhead

Gardeners have been killed by a love of horticulture
Nature enthusiasts are killed exploring what they love
I sit and spend my hours typing words
In the end it is always the small things that kill us

The misplaced step,
The rocks that make us trip,
The small berry,
The hunched back from bad posture,
Always traced back to a trifling choice

There is no choice that doesn’t end in death
We must choose our killers carefully.

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