Kneel the Tortured Night

Concrete fields and sky-scraped clouds
sterile soil, unsuitable for life
flora choke, drowning in smog
wilting and limp from attrition
animals bent and deformed
scraping our leftover plates
and all the trees starved of life
withered leaves clenched in pain
bark peeling like sunburned skin
fails to cause pity or shame?

We must be insane.

Stars bled of their guiding light
parasitic fluorescence
the night, once alive, is empty
its’ blanket bitten and worn
with false light chafing our skin
our illusionary prosperity
until the voice of the earth
reduced to a painful whisper
engulfed by unnatural noise
keening whines, buzzing wires
shattering, screaming of steel
atom’s electrons colliding
shuddering, grating of ore
perpetual cacophony
is utterly silenced.

Are we deaf to our own hearts?

Living dead, afraid of death
stuffing ourselves in boxes
piles of plant carcasses
our corpse cube cages
rubbing rusted edges
grating spoiled souls
gathering rotten reasons
forced within city limits
pierced by savage sewage pipes
corroded veins, filth entrenched
soupy blood, manmade poisons
clogging the heart of our world
left alone to spark and flare
to cling together in the flames
taking solace in shared suffering.

An ancestral fire
that burns through generations.

Humans grip the tortured earth
thrashing the womb of our birth
imitating those before
trapped in infinite ignorance
shrunken, prison-born children
naive to the world outside
pumping our heads full of air
to flatulate on command
inflating our fragile world
cobbled, jumbled, clashing
squatting, near-sighted builders
blind eyes, narrow beauty
foolish, rampant expansion
consuming all without fear.

There is no pride
in unsustainable lives.

Selfish, viral decisions
puffing up our sour fog
clinging tight with lethal claws
permeating everything
fills a mirror with sickening dread
ego terrified, flinching
deaf, dumb, blind, numb to the voice
waging war on our shadow
cold caskets crammed with horrors
striking, blazing wildly
stabbing suicidally
forgetting why, doing now
cycling inevitably
rolling, too afraid to stop
to know where we are going
too tired to tell the truth
our voices raw from screaming
atonal, shattered from the whole
knotting, clenching, fading
vertigo, adrift in space
the ground part of amnesia
to catch us as we fall.

Our planet speaks to us
if we would only listen.