Pity

I think God looks down in pity
As we cover the simple streets of our city;
(Almost like it's our mortal campaign)
With our motley assortment of buildings again
It’s Sand. Earth. Metal. All the same
Since the world began. Only us to blame.
Building up and up and up from the dearth
But creating nothing, only modifying the earth

We demand the heavens wondering
Why we have smoke and pain and suffering.
When it was us that created all these things
Trying to mess with nature and heaven strings.
Not realizing we cannot make the world turn.
Our thoughts only on what we will earn.
Higher and higher to our metaphorical sky
Of hauteur and rank and power. Why?

I believe that if we stop forgetting
That the hallowed ground
On which we stand
Is a place to learn, to build:
Not the world surrounding us
But rather, our own soul
We could become a bit more happy
With our little days that are sunny,
And stop caring so much about our buildings
And cars and houses and jobs and money;
Simply listen to how the earth sings.
Bridges of sand fall apart anyways.