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Poem

If you had a genie in a bottle

and it told you that you could make any 3 wishes

You would not wish for gold

you would not wish for riches

you would not wish for fame.

You would wish for wars to end

Student loans to be forgiven

poverty to be fixed 

equality to be spread.

and the genie would stop you midsentence

and say

"my, but you only have three, so be wise and choose quickly"

and you would be stuck there with power

burdened by centuries of mess and corruption

deciding what to fix first 

oceans and forests whispering your name in the leaves and waves

their voices choked by debris 

the people suffering around the world calling out

always there in the back of your mind

your own country falling apart as the hands of power and revenge join in cursed matrimony

and the genie starts counting back

and you rattle off three random things

but the genie looks at you sadly

shaking its head with a comical frown

"my dear," says the genie, its frown growing to a sadistic smile

"you wish for things that are too great. Why do you not wish for gold or fame? A mansion or your perfect spouse?"

and you look at the genie and realize that its bottle is only plated gold

and underneath is the same tarnished, rusted glass that this world is comprised of.

so you leave the bottle

and the hope along with it

and your hollow eyes see the world anew

but the quiet voices of the water and trees still speak

the wars are still raging

and you take with you nothing but the knowledge that genies exist outside their lamps 

and you walk among them.

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