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)
Copyright © Terry Robinson | Year Posted 2015
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