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Rane Oct 2019
The Earth is not fragile
Planets grow back after tornadoes
Earthquakes
Hurricanes
Volcanic eruptions
The sea is unpredictable and untamable
Lightning bursts and thunder roars
The Earth has the ability to ****

The Earth is not fragile
Instead we have destroyed Her
We have torn down
Millions upon millions of trees
Without replacing any
We have hunted animals to extinction
Without a single thought
We have poisoned Her, we have bombed Her
We have over-populated Her and polluted Her
The Earth is not fragile
We are killing Her
And She is tired of fighting

a.p.
Nylee Oct 2019
Whilst the world wilts,
Sunshine dims,
River stills in between,
Winds are hurrying
The seasons are changing.

And we throw another plastic bag
We suffocate our lifestyle
Killing our species in style
Make it harder to breathe
Just the basic necessity of air.
Juhlhaus Oct 2019
Stiff necks turn your ears
To the approaching thunder
In the sanctuary walls,
A tremor in the civic flagstones,
Four million poster-board sentiments,
And twice as many young lungs.
They will be marching still,
When you can no longer
Answer those piercing eyes
Looking to your legacy,
Nor stand before the tender feet
Shaking the earth you leave them.
For Greta and the planet.
Yamuna Turco Sep 2019
Change is hard
Change requires difficulty and struggle,
pain and heartache

Change is all around us
It calls for us,
beckons us to it
But change means we must act

The world is falling apart around us
The oceans are growing
Our lands are burning
Our hatred of one another takes a step forward and two back
We must strive for change

We make changes to our lives everyday
A haircut
Moving into a new house
Attending a global warming protest,
they are all changes

Change is hard
Change is unnerving
But the world needs change
Or it is about to become a whole lot more uncomfortable
Shubham Solanki Sep 2019
What if trees could move
Would they stay where we do
Would they filter our CO2
I say the answer's NO.

They would rather want a place of their own
Away from humans with axes and saws
Where they'll be at peace
Doing stuff like photosynthesis.

Wonder what would happen then
Wait,Don't bother,Do not say
We'll all be dead anyway!
climate change is real,it is about time we act consciously and help plant more trees. Global warming is coming for us all.
Ind Sep 2019
We need to find a new space of revolution,
Beyond this place of pollution.
Democracy’s dying - the chambers of brick and bone can no longer hone the power effectively,
And besides, the mortars crumbling.
Grumbles echo between screens until the rumbles bubble then burst and tumble onto the streets,
but cries are few and weak.
The masses are meek.
‘To question the system is extreme’ media teams scream while they profit from the chaos and hide behind headlines.
The bourgeoisie sit comfortably as their bunkers are fortified,
Happy to capitalise on destruction and dramatise death.
Their crimes are discreet,
And steeped in deceit,
Yet they remain unburdened by the bodies that pile at their feet.
Why bother searching for answers when science is censored and senses are dulled?
They want us senseless,
Immune and desensitised to the countless lies and ecocide.
“Not our species, not our problem”
But it’s both and more.
Our streets,
Our future,
Our planet.
When will the lesson sink in?
When pollution is skin deep and soil bares only the spoils of war?
The climate crisis takes no prisoners, favours neither rich nor poor.
Your wealth can’t save you.
Banana Sep 2019
If a virus kept its host alive it too could live.
But greed is more powerful.
Maybe we’re the same.
Scarlet Niamh Aug 2019
I came from the old times dancing on a
hillside which toppled into lakes, tipping
down into endless valleys of green and
blue, my hands in the palms of a stranger.
I kissed him under fog as the oil rigs
skittered across the water, finches swooping
to protect their young. As a laughing melody
hummed between us, electric and satisfied,
I felt our hands shining so brightly in
the darkness around. I sang an old song
in the woods and it echoed back to me.

Roots run deep and wild. At first they lay quiet,
toes buried in moss, and I wondered if
the leaf felt my touch as silken, smooth as
water, or jagged as the stones beneath
it. And then they were livid, raging, boiling
under the surface as I stood above
screaming water, churning the earth from the
edges of the river, eating away
at the land I was bound to. Desolate
and sodden, I faltered on the borders
of my home town, longing for the heaviness
of salt to catch on my tongue once more.

And then I changed, or grew, and forgot what
it was I had lost. Now, looking down upon
empty forests, I no longer remember
the song they are singing, yet I hear the scent
of a dead earth, the sound of a mushroom
breaking at the stem. Lying on lamenting
sands, I feel a droplet land on my cheek
and, for a moment, feel a whisper
of home. Carrying my feet from the meadows,
I'll mutter softly, singing my melody alone.
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