Choked sky
The rivers cough,
Their waters grey and sulk,
With exhaustion bitting at the banks,
That once held children's laughter.
The lethargic trees wear ashes like armour,
Leaves brittle, whispering warrnings,
That no one listens to.
Drifting smoke climbing like a theif,
Stealing the blue from the sky,
Painting the sun in dull bruises, where
We pretend not to see.
Even the weak wind carries a taste, of
Metal and sadness;
The birds sing quieter than ever,
There wings heavy with weight of
A world forgetting how to breath.
Yet somewhere beneath the ground the
Earth still hums softly,
Waiting for hands that will not choke it.
For mouths that will speak before the last
River sleeps.
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