A World Meant To Grow

My great-grandfather was a farmer, He yielded crops by the harvest moon When spring came to bloom He had a son, My grandfather was a military-man He disappeared into the earth as a Green Beret When the next Autumn came He no longer yielded crops by the harvest moon No longer tolled the soft fertile ground But rather, Found himself, camouflage in corpses —Cold to the touch Lifeless And I often ask myself what my grandchildren will become? No more nature to nurture No more songs to be sung, Along harmonious tunes Tell the children to come back in Because there is a darkness coming soon Shining it’s ultraviolet light And the sea levels too rise like skyscrapers Or scarcity When all the tree are gone And the air is hard to breathe What happens? When there is a malformity Or a mutation in a gene What happens? When the field dries up and there is no more crops to yield? The dirt turned to dust Against the heel of battle boots Ready for war The sprouts withered in poison From the powdered gunsmoke soft , gentle, life, The sound of metal drilling the earth When there is nothing left to find Of generations past For tomorrow will never know What it meant to live In a world meant to grow.