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Sunday, January 26, 2014

polar vortex

Shhh, listen to the whispers
hovering in the gentle breeze  
voices coming from the mountains and seas
in between the great oaks and evergreens
a chant in synchronous harmony
of their plight, their soon demise

they were here before us to till and nourish
the soil and waters, share its nutrient exhale
so that we can breathe the earths vitality
and drink of Mother Natures milk and walk
amidst a gift of paradise in perpetuity

but, shhh, listen to the cries of sorrow now
that blow in the wind, sometimes howling
in angry destructive gusts telling us of
how without the trees we will not breathe
or cannot catch the wind and without clear brooks
and springs we will not drink, we will breach
the harmony of things

listen as the whispers have become screams
in portentous calls of thrusting angry fires
and torrential tears, breathing frigid
air amidst blinding squalls, instilling a fear, this
of our own doing from careless and uncaring
hands through the years, now casting
an ominous shadow upon our paradisiacal gift