A generation stands
In prayer,
From false idols
Long praised they demand sacrifice,
Their goddess is tired,
Is crying,
Is bleeding,
Is burning,
And still the idols won’t hear,
won’t see,
Won’t give
An inch, an ounce of fossil fuel empathy,
They were always false,
But propped up to heavenly heights,
Were worshipped
By those before
for the coin,
The vanity, the luxury,
The illusory gifts
Such “gods” would provide.
The juvenile,
Have much to lose,
In fact they’ve lost it.
Nothing to lose.
The false idols should fear,
The young, as they worship
The true Goddess.
She of Letters 