The Void
Tag: Earth
This Inferno
We are burning
We are bombing,
In a self-made Apocalypse,
Who will save us?
When thee who made us
Provided free will capacities,
This is on us,
Regardless of what you believe in,
Fix it, unless
You choose this end,
With riches and ash,
Profit and pain,
War and climate change,
Neighbors are fleeing,
A hell we have made,
And so many close eyes, head down, to pray,
“Do something!” The universe screams,
Your prayers alone are a selfish salve,
Ignoring your personal investment in this terror,
“Too little too late,” the skeptics say,
But why add fuel to this raging inferno?
Longest Night
Dissipating light,
Whistle of wind over frosted dunes,
The night it closes in,
As we bid an early farewell to the sun,
Hope remains for the morning still to come,
But for now it is the blanket of dark,
Ever surrounding,
Noticed by all the living,
That the change it comes,
As the Earth does pass her longest night,
without the sun
Warm and Cold
Feel the crisp cold against your cheek,
While the light of day burns overhead,
Warming the same spot,
it is a tug of war,
Between the sun and atmosphere,
Warm and cold both wanting to pull you near.
Winter Forecast
Familiar ping of icy droplets strikes the window pane,
Hits the pavement,
Snow, as forecast nestles between browned grass blades,
Winter has formally arrived,
Made itself known
With a frosted cold,
I am a small being,
Against the wind whispering chill upon my reddened cheek,
Against the magnitude of seasons taking place,
Against the backdrop of Earth and sky finding equilibrium,
Against the universe that goes on unfazed by changes over my head
— the life alerting weather shifts that fall down as soft white dust, building into great mountains,
Juvenile Activists
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 