Beauty painted on
A silky, silver-blue sky
With jungles
And forests
And oceans
And plains

Every creature and every living thing
Perfect in its own way
With humanity at the helm
Earth's greatest flaw
Her greatest disease
Her infectious melancholia.

No worries...
Our mother knows how to fix herself
The clothed, wretched beast
Wollowing in its own self righteousness
Dreaming that it was in charge
Ruling itself as if it were King of the universe

Who lied to them?
Who is responsible for making them feel as if they were invincible?
Perhaps it was self imposed
Perhaps they dreamt it or read it in some book they authored themselves
Perhaps their ever expanding technology
Coerced them into appointing themselves as overlords

Beautiful world
Ugly humanity
A pity
Really
The possibilities are seemingly endless
Yet they bend themselves on destruction
And selfishness

Well...
It's almost over anyway
They will be reminded
Of their own fragility soon enough
Or is there hope still?
I think there is
But only through catastrophe
Such is their way....