The News

I'd like to write about flowers but they're not news,
waterfalls and clear water is what we're going to lose;
we don't want to hear media and announcements anymore,
because everything has become like a weeping sore.

God in his office must despair, you wonder does he really care?
You humans can't live together after I gave everything so fair;
for those who say: 'Think positive, you must have good with bad,
nonsense, it shouldn't work that way, you really must be mad.

Let's move on, to blues and greys and green with mystery,
I see no adversity, hatred, only beauty it seems to me,
the air is warm, so much love, I feel that I've been reborn,
don't give me your usual cynicism and predictable scorn.

They invited me to the Booker Prize, my thoughts were done,
it was astonishing, my fictional homespun philosophy had won.