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.
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