Worms In the Fruit of God
Are we, yea, the worms in the fruit that twas God's,
We that hollow out hills mining rock, stone and clods,
We that heap up the fill into mountainous wastes
Until nothing is left
Until nothing is chaste?
Worms, we, dining so fine that we blind cannot see
That the fruit once loved fresh
Is now riddled,
Diseased.
Paradise had we in our grasp, in our ease.
But that Paradise had is one lost through Man's greed!
We have eaten the whole tree
From fruit unto root
And are still--
Unappeased!
We whose avarice churns forth to the Me-Me-Me masses
All Nature's abundance in plastics and glasses,
The abundance of a once chaste Creation
Mined, melted and molded,
Baked, boiled, boxed and UPC coded.
Until all is consumed by unnatural Worms
Whose leavings are to themselves harm.
Are we the Worms in the Apple of God?
If so, can we alter our state,
And learn to nurture this Garden
So wrecked by our Greed
And sow in this Garden a better seed,
Else we might follow the creatures passed from the Light,
The mammoth, the dire wolf and the dodo alike
So that this once holy Creation,
This blessed Remnant,
This Fruit of Light,
Might remember our passing,
We being but
A blight.
Copyright © James Fitz-Gerald | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment