PORTENTOUS PROGNOSIS

 

(If Mother Earth could speak…)

 

I’m the first light of dawn setting fire to the skies,

the awe that ends with a soft, sated sigh.

I’m the slow, gentle sway of ancient, lofty trees,

branches of life filled with wonders to be.

 

I am sands and seas; a warm summer breeze

blowing soft, whispered tunes over ever-changing dunes.

I am stars in the heavens sailing high overhead,

the sun and the moon on their tireless threads.

 

I’m the love of life; the pulse in your heart,

the strength of will in a lovers fine art.

I’m the beaming smile on the fearless face

of a victorious child at the end of a race.

 

“And what are they doing now…”

 

“Waves of hate

washing wasted fields,

decimating all

as they reap tainted yields.”

 

You’re the time and motion in an open frown,

a smirk beneath the paint of a terrified clown.

You’re the only solution to a worlds desperate cries,

swollen cheeks scarred by too many lies.

 

You’re a baby’s cry in a cold, stagnant pond;

all it could have been, had it lived much beyond

the cull of the clan or the whaler’s call,

so many lonely roads, at the back of every mall.

 

You are every grain of sand escaping clutching hands

of every grieving parent in war-torn lands,

carried aloft upon the jet-streams breath,

washed up on beaches that have seen too much death.

  

“And what are they doing now…”

 

” Can’t they see beyond

their selfish greed;

their lascivious needs?

 

 Can’t they be stopped

before the frenzy grows

too fearsome to feed?”

 

I’m the here and now since the dawning of time,

crying confusion at a wasted design.

The questioning gaze on so many tired faces,

a distant rumble felt beneath shallow graces.

 

I’m the giver of life, each equal to another,

taker of too many wasted sisters and brothers.

Another broken heart from a loss felt too soon,

a cold wretched cry from across a crowded room.

 

I am the heavens roar on a wild, stormy night,

torrential vengeance of a thunderhead’s might.

A raging wrath you don’t ever wish to wake,

I am nature’s grace that you choose to forsake.

 

“And what are they doing now…

 

Sending to the fields

of fruitless death,

their sacrificial sons

breathing borrowed breaths

 

Unleashing desolation

from way up high;

a tempest of hate-filled

and remorseless fires.”

  

I’m the molten rock spewing from natures wounds,

the ear-piercing shriek of her decimating winds.

 

I’m the Tsunami washing away the filth of your deeds,

the quaking earth to halt your murderous greed.

 

I’m the tornados teeth, tearing lives apart,

the landslide burying your empty hearts.

 

I’m the freezing avalanche covering all in its path,

the raging storm unleashing thunderous wrath.

 

I am the flood; the torrent; destroyer of all,

the deluge of death at the reapers call.

 

“And what are they doing now…”

 

“Beseeching the heavens

with open hands

in the wasted remnants

of once rich lands?”

 

 

Written by Darren Scanlon, 31st December 2014.

Revised 20th July 2015.

©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

COPYWRITE IMAGE

 

 

Image courtesy of: dogayakacis.com

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8 Comments Add yours

  1. joylennick says:

    That was quite an unleashing of your fears, Darren! It dug deep as usual. A powerful poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. olganm says:

    Loud and clear Darren. Now, will anyone listen?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. One day, Olga, one day.

      Like

    1. Thanks so much Julia and welcome to my world. Keep smiling 😊

      Like

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