Grass grows occasionally in
These stone-ladened
City streets, crawling
Out of the laboured pavements, and
Residing for a mere
Moment before we point our gluttonous claws, and
Take on
The role of accuser; shaming nature
For their abstinence.
We no longer want their verdant wealth, now
We favour more precious things; an array of
False saviours, endless labour and
Self-diagnosed health.
When the natural order of things
Crept away, we were mistaken.
Alas, the world
Was ready to forgive.
Persistent
To grow, and live.
But we failed the world, when
We blamed the world. When
We blamed the world. When
We blamed the world.
(The world has turned rough)

A grey existence with an
Absent landscape, removed
Of the abstract and joy that once
Mothered life and love.