The distant cry
Of a black-bird
Echoes up high
But is not heard.
Somewhere beneath,
A rodent nests
In tar and grief
With young in-breast.
And, in valleys,
A crushing guilt
Poisons the land
To bleed and wilt;
Pestilence is
Upon them. Not
A plague: rather,
Humanity.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 4:19 AM UTC
The distant cry
Of a black-bird
Echoes up high
But is not heard.
Somewhere beneath,
A rodent nests
In tar and grief
With young in-breast.
And, in valleys,
A crushing guilt
Poisons the land
To bleed and wilt;
Pestilence is
Upon them. Not
A plague: rather,
Humanity.
A poem about the environment.
#7 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.
© Lewis Hyden, 2018
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