Oh Mankind, shall I implode upon myself,
Waiting for you to come to your senses?
Simply at first, I was flatly misunderstood.
Now, I am blatantly expended, forsaken.
Here I am, existing among eight, once nine.
Alas, poor Pluto, ill-fated, I am sure life
Secluded is better, better than this one
Of torture, buckled under mortal heedlessness.
I was created in fine tune, precise elements
Of atmosphere for sustaining you in generations.
The Sun, the Moon and I pirouette in harmony
Without your power, setting day and night.
My sky is your canopy to dream great.
My grass your carpet to plant and live.
My seas your fountain to swig and sail.
All these for thee and thine existence.
Tell me of your acknowledgment of me?
Sowing and scattering seeds and trees?
Contriving techniques for air pristine?
Legal proclamations of altruism?
Where is your heart if I am your home?
Sufficient will your love be, when you
Fill me not with corpses so young
From wars so old-fashioned.
Weapons you use among yourselves
Hurt me and not only your enemy.
Fertile lands once beautiful, serene,
Polluted with chemicals, blasts.
Woe, shall I end as a sacrifice to your thirst
Never ending or will there be utter quiet
When all of you go, leaving behind
Scars and wounds of love no more?
Copyright © 2013 Shainbird. All rights reserved.