The Destruction of Planet Number Three

The sun's savage fingers have penetrated the calving sheets of ice, delving deeply beneath the blankets of the frozen surface. And the oceans, bruised mauve and swollen like a pregnant whore, rail against the rocks of man's kingdoms with their bowels ripped open by bleached coral and rising temperatures; from which clouds rise up, bitter like a smog eclipsed sun, only to fall back to earth with corruption pinned to the coat tails of every raindrop. And, across the fields, a coal-filled crystalline air drives a guilty world's dreams towards unprotected lungs and evaporating lands. Where oil worshipped totums portray the sordid lucre of promised bounty, producing lopsided views of a dying humanity And the keeper of the rain forest's keys deals with a polluted man, chain saw in one hand and palm oil in the other. Leaving the abandoned trees to rage unheard against the indignity of their rape. Leaving embattled tribes, gentle guardians of the land, to stand defenceless against the idolatry of the dollar; whose spiteful colours of destruction are spreading their kaleidoscopic tendrils across a world full of dust bowls and refugee famine Proud are we who stand tall against a world that gave us a garden to play in and a sea to banquet on. And proud are we who make the toys that blast holes out of creation and bind the full power of the sun's wrath against such a tiny emblem "Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much. Wisdom is humble that he knows not more" (William Cowper 1785)