An avalanche of passed chances,
Gone ignored from exploration.
Has begun to crack.
And begins to roar...
Down a slope,
With an unforgiving speed.
And yet...
Those in darkened valleys below
Refuse to let go,
Of their cackling.
And back stabbing jealousies.

The addiction of this,
Isn't noticed...
As mental illness.

Or an awareness,
Of who has been plagued...
By this increasing epidemic.

This avalanche advances.
Too quickly to reverse.
Or evaluate to prepare,
Plans to evacuate...
Those treating upon ignorance,
Too late to escape from it.

And the avalanche,
Of passed chances...
Smothers all.
Preventing forward advancements
Up, down or around it,
That can be made.

'The rescue crew will soon come
To again clear our path,
From the devastation...
We've allowed to have done.'

Would not rely on that belief.
As I look through my binoculars
It seems to me...
That rescue crew is avoiding,
This area.
In fact...
As I wave they wave back.
Not to do to move towards us.
I wonder what that's about?

by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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