Her protesting moans
Rumble over the land
And her throes of resistance
Shoot lightning through the sky
And we cover our ears.
Her tantrums throw hurricanes
At our cities
And rattle the ground
Beneath our feet
In an effort to shake herself free
And we persist.
We can put a hand to her forehead
And feel her growing hot,
Hotter than ever,
Feel that our innovation is an ailment
And we can see her dying
And yet we cough in her face.
We tell her that we will
Leave her someday,
That there are others like her
Out there
And she is not precious.
We tell her how we yearn to escape
Her paradise.
We tell her that we've grown jaded
To her embrace.
And she weeps.
She knows we will not cure her
Because we do not care.
And harder
She weeps.