Shh.
Shhh'�
Listen, there is no sound.
Constant grind & whine of metal against metal now ceased.
As the liquidated remains of our tropical, submerged history expire we lament for a new reserve.
The black upon black,
the legacy of centuries burned,
our subservience to luxury and the modern.
Comfortable, climate adjusted rooms and automobile,
fast paced, unwavering time-scale with a 2 day turn-around from the far east jet wash.
Clouds present little more than a lull in the violence of the sun after layers removed,
our lives forever filled with regret,
how we were told, how we were warned, how we selected inaction & opposed,
prefer our subservience to luxury and the modern.
Baked in ever increasing Celsius, the parched remains of great wooded hills blow dust in the dry breeze,
we inhaled, our lungs now filled with the effluent of incessant industrial progress & motion,
we choked, eventually.
How green once was, now replaced with dulcet earthen tones and arid vastness,
reduced to screen viewed recordings from more fertile memories,
resent our subservience to luxury and the modern.
Want to comment on this Poetry?
Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
|
 |
|