On the state of things
My once rich topsoil clouds the seas
Man’s pesticides are poisoning me
This creature talks about his “right”
as he ushers in forever night.
What about the rights of those
Who did not wear designer clothes?
Those who fur or feathers wore
and eked out life by tooth and claw.
My ocean’s are awash with trash,
Over fished and fading fast.
Ever larger swaths of sea
Hypoxic, anaerobic be.
On land, my tale is much the same
From space, behold my forests burn
The little parasites descend
And rip my treasures from within.
Where once my oceans teemed with life
They’re silent, nearly empty now
And fields that once would gleam with grain
Befoul my air with flatulent cows.
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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