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Today was the end of my life,
yet tomorrow I see all.

I am a rocket creature      /      My bones lie melted,

in the forest, the trees are  /   tire tracks which scar my mangled body:

my landing strip. No better     \    flesh and bones and

sanctuary than this     /          humanitarian malice.

God-given world,             /       Betrayal by the ones we preceded,

untouched; delicate arboretum    \      metal glowing eyes above,

Palm fronds— my blankets and    \    screaming rubber wheels,


everlasting life felt through the wind in my fur.


Anti-anthropomorphic heaven,     /     throat charred of secondhand;

  I take   /   the blood of my posterity stained

green for granted. She     \   sees the world I am at the mercy of,

     who does not belong to me,      \      I am a slave to what he wants

yet I am a microscopic essentialist     /    and a blink of robotic velocity

                        to her                   /           in which I cannot keep up.


Born of Gaia and a martyr of Growth.
A poem about the perspective of industrialization from road ****… a squirrel probably… read both sides individually or together.
Sudzedrebel Apr 24
What torture ignorance is!
When you treat ignorance as such,
Perhaps it is.
Being so ignorant,
I could see it.
For the foolishness of it
Is that it is the only route to wisdom!

In how we define it?
By how we describe it?
Of how we perceive it?

Perception birthing perspective,
Yet both products of their environment!
"Self-copulation?"

Of course, given context,
The definitions fluctuate.
So, then our perception of it
And thereby our descriptions of them,
Change or fluctuate also.

Like the rain falling.
Like ice forming.
Like water flowing.
Shambhavi Apr 7
I asked God,
What happened to this world...?

Chirping birds became noisy horns,
Majestic trees replaced by haunted thorns.
Dense forests turned to toxic crowds,
Now heaven is hidden in denser clouds.

Humans became demons in daylight,
Every festival now ends in fight.
AI paints beautiful trees,
But a painting can't make us breathe free.

All relations turned into jokes,
Children leave their parents chasing hopes.
Even animals sacrifice for their children lives,
But here a mother killed her own child.

I again asked God, weeping in my silent tears,
God replied me,
Don't worry my dear,
THE END IS NEAR!!
Every religioius textbooks have warned us about the ending of the world because of humans desires but no one cares and soon we will see the circumstances.
Archer Apr 7
Thereunto Sky Filled with Scars
O’er our beheld Ocean of Teeth
Seldomly Throwing Up Clouds and Stars
In sets of three for three sets of Crying Trees
Up and upon each Screaming Mountainside
Till moons pass half past a Quarter to Live
Or they shan’t view their Island in my Eye
Instead betwixt a Desert and Crude Sieve
Alas, nary a River Through our Sun
Nor a Volcano up the Arctic
Dost commit to Minds Overrun
Or coups for Governments Oligarchic
neth jones Mar 27
solve  like ashes                                                  
the moisture  from the living world surround
watching  the days go dry          
               barren witches  upon the season
22/03/25 [notes :earliest versions
Untitled 06/03/25//i resolve like ashes /the moisture from the living world surround
Untitled05/03/25//watching the days go dry /witches on the season /barren]
Amir Murtaza Mar 24
For years, the voices have risen—
from parched fields, from coastlines swallowed by the sea,
from homes turned to ruins by winds too fierce to be natural.

They ask not for mercy,
but for what is owed—
a recognition, a reckoning.

In glass towers and conference halls,
the wealthy nations turn away,
their signatures missing from promises long made,
their hands gripping wealth built on a burning planet.

Storms rage louder now,
waves crash higher,
droughts stretch longer,
but still, they hesitate.

The ones who suffer know the weight of inaction,
measured in lost harvests, displaced families,
children breathing in the dust of what once was home.

And yet, there is hope—
a whisper in the winds,
a trembling in the roots,
a gathering of voices that refuse to be silenced.

This is not charity.
It is justice.
It is the past catching up with the present,
demanding to be acknowledged.

There is no more time for debate.
No room for delay.
The debt must be paid.
Before the earth takes it in blood.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 21
Evening is on the take
The sun herself senses it
Her heat is slipping away
Eclipsed by cold, arctic tendrils
Rilling through the fragile geography
Earth is a strong fighter though
Able to restore itself in serene defiance
Light she brings to keep night in its place
Written for the challenge to write an acrostic poem to the word Ethereal, using the word serene somewhere in the poem by Mrs. Timetable.

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5012875/ethereal-acrostic/
We were given a lovely world
but we trampled it and mashed it
beat it up and trashed it,
nobody else to blame
we did it to ourselves
and it's such a ****** shame,
we can't walk away,
we can't say I quit
we made this awful mess
now we have to live in it
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