Evaluation

They say that I write dark things That I do not laugh again That my words are like crows wings And metaphors Noah's rain They say my meanings blot the sun There is no dance on the page And so they believe that having fun Means ignorance must be on stage. These are days dark, my blind dear The world has changed is changing still What was dew is now the tear Of forests dead before they are killed Of seas stagnant and melting poles While we breathe poison in the air Seasons and genders switched in roles Merely trip the meter of fear. My page is my canvas I write What see, the sun shredding earth To dust, and crumbled stalagmite Our bones, blown in a dusty spurt And from the cathedral singing Comes, a papal caravan of dreams You are at the start, I at the ending Of time's delicious little schemes