BAD (Climate Change & The 15th Violent Verse)

In the throb of atmosphere
a rumbling has begun in the home,
the sanctuary of family and air
for exhaling away an aching world,
it's pressing in too tightly now
without kindness or acquittal.

Echoing behind our anxious eyes,
a wobble of fear; over the sky, over the fierce hue of time,
no break, no dawn. A vicious flailing- kindness, hope
joy, laughter, sold for days, minutes, seconds more;
bartered for an nth of miserable anger.

Humankind anon will scrape its lust with
the common shroud of coldness- the children
and their laughter, their dance and their patter,
the moon and stars and intercourse,
all a whisper, one god-awful unspoken bereavement.
No more sunrises or sunsets seen through fist-split eyes.
No more joy and laughter.

Here every lawn is trimmed, groomed like a preacher’s beard.
Trees replaced by tool sheds, garden plots shrunken, dead.
Shiny green pools, television screens as life-sized as bloodshed.
Everything is lighting our path away from home,
Away from blue skies, hummingbirds, eagles, peace.
The grand soaring birds of our story, screaming and plummeting
through the rooftops of our unspoken dreams...

In the throb of our air, a rumbling.

© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman