I think that I shall only see
Warm and dark waters rushing angrily for me;
Catastrophe will come, upon whose hungry mouth will be fed,
Heaps of mud and garbage, in a roaring rage;
Aghast and all mad to lash back at sleeping innocents,
Fast as lightning, feeding death off Gaia’s breast;
Now I’ll never guess which time of the year is summer;
Feels like hell freezes over, by the last sunrise of the winter chill.
When it rains it truly pours, then come famine where families lay by mercy’s crackling…
At dawn come new age disease and pestilence;
Lungs all clogged with boils, souls cry for help with hunger;
Like toy soldiers, each one falls down…
Barren wastelands now slowly creeping;
An inch everyday, quenching the thirst of the devil.
Humans are the sentinels, sentient beings busy with everyday living.
Poems are made by fools like you and me,
But when will we ever learn?
Instead of groveling, we need to plant thee...
Still the choice remains, given by his grace and knowledge;
Only God can make a tree…