I walk the familiar paths,
their beauty dulled by the litter that lines them.
Plastic bottles, discarded wrappers,
a shoe missing its pair,
a trail of neglect that’s hard to ignore.
Why always here?
Why do we treat our home this way?
The roads are heavy with filth,
the air thick with fumes and frustration.
Bins stand idle, waiting for use,
while rivers, once full of life,
carry the weight of our waste.
Water, meant to be clear and pure,
now tells a different story, A very dark story.
I step carefully, dodging the trash.
An empty soda can here,
a torn newspaper dancing in the wind.
Is it so hard to care?
So hard to find a bin,
to think beyond the moment?
I search the faces around me,
hoping for answers, but find none.
Just more garbage, plastic bags snagged on trees,
cigarette butts crushed into the dirt,
fast food wrappers blowing like tumbleweeds.
It makes me sad,
not just for the streets,
but for the way we’ve let them become this way.
The beauty of Eastlands
hidden under piles of indifference.
I bend down,
pick up a piece of litter,
and toss it into a nearby bin.
It feels small, insignificant,
but it’s something.
I know it’ll take more than one person,
more than one act,
to fix this mess we’ve created.
It’ll take all of us,
a shared sense of responsibility,
to bring life back to these streets.
Still, I dream,
of rivers running clear,
of air free of smoke,
of roads where the only footprints
are those left by hopeful feet.
Until that dream becomes reality,
I’ll keep walking these paths,
beautiful but broken,
reminding myself that change
starts with me.
@okelododdychitchats
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