The crisis

The night holds itself upright,
so proud
it breathes a cacophony
of its own kind.
It seems we've lost all control
these days.
The world spins,
wobbles and turns,
wavering, a dreidal,
but with excessive care.
Balance
the great virtue of the times is found.
We ignore the scales
that allowed for our existence.
We have dismissed nature
and all of its
lessons.
It's the climate crisis
the housing crisis
the energy crisis
the terror crisis
the morality crisis
the immigrant crisis
the yet unopened crisis,
another unwelcome guest.
These ideas
we plant in each others heads,
incessantly picking apart ourselves.
For the praise or benefit
of no savior,
no great idea or being.
We dissect ourselves beyond recognition,
mutilating toward dishonor.
The Lord made a dog
incapable of thinking of itself
as lowly as we.