we are drowning

Sometimes it is all just too much, and finding beauty feels like the wrong calling. As more information surfaces about the costs of war, of rape, of power, I am so sick I can't refrain from writing out of this mess. 

We are drowning 

in an ocean,
a human drain

under the plank
that moves with pleasure
on top of us,
an iron vessel that keeps on
floating and sliding through waters
calmed by those themselves
who ride us,

their vision of
clear sailing
in a free and open sky
beautiful to them
who look to the horizon

while we thrash
in the still dark deep
stain below,
hysterically
pulled down
under them
into the
hole