Gaia’s Last Breath
We were given one garden,
One womb spun in stardust and sea foam,
But we — children of steel and smoke —
Turned it into a battlefield of greed.
The trees whispered secrets of balance,
But we silenced them with chainsaws.
The rivers wept in silver tones,
Now they gag on plastic and oil.
Oceans rise not in wrath —
But in sorrow.
Mountains crumble under the weight
Of our endless hunger.
We drill into her lungs,
Build monuments on her broken bones,
While she, ancient and patient,
Bleeds chlorophyll and cries in storms.
We chase Mars like fools —
Dreaming of red dust kingdoms
While choking the blue cradle
That has always held us.
Colonize the stars?
We haven’t even earned the ground we stand on.
We mistake technology for wisdom,
And illusions for evolution.
Gaia does not hate —
She endures.
But she will cleanse herself,
With fire, with flood, with ice,
Until silence returns.
And when the last human voice
Vanishes into ash,
She will bloom again —
Brighter. Wilder. Free.
We had a home.
We had a chance.
We chose profit over prophecy.
And so, the Earth will heal —
But not for us.
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