What is there to do?
As fires burn and hopes melt
What can I do?

With every day that passes,
A new dawn of destruction emerges,
For every bird song,
a million keys bashed
to the beat of the working day.

What will I do?
When my food is gone,
my home,
my work,
my car!

Where do we go?
When water, finally prescious,
Our immaculate containers,
no longer made,
scattered across the oceans carpet.

Why should I care?
When I won’t even be there!
I’ll surely outlive this tall tale of woe.

It is only I who does something.
Whilst others do nothing.
It’s pointless and futile,
doomed by despots in everyday clothing.

Hoaxes,
misinformation,
It’s blown all out of proportion,
Quacks,
sooth sayers,
falsehoods and lies,
to scare our children,
To darken our minds' skies.

You will regret it.
you will be the reason.
When we all suffer for your gross neglect.
Living it up on earths expense -
thinking only of yourself.

I bet you laugh whilst eating meats
dipped in fine black oils,
gargling, snorting, farting,
I hope you choke! - angry face

Oh how Respect has died an awful death,
Thrown into Mozarts grave,
Along with Reason,
Rationality,
Responsibility,

What can I do?
When none of you see,
The answers are here,
our hands hold the keys.
Show mercy, show care
find comforts in fertile earth,
for tomorrow, she may not soe,
Reuse, reduce, repair - share.

It is not I who can do it -
but we can.

Isn’t she lovely when she sighs in relief
And her breath twists and twirls the leaves?
After they burned her forest and left her in grief,
Mother Nature can finally breathe.

Lost at home drifting through the sea,
What once used to be thriving,
Annexed by unsighted debris,
The ice moved on feebly.

Nature has her magical ways,
Growing and changing the weathered days.
Despite the beautiful scenes she can provide,
Her magic is no match for mankind.

The ice wonders why it cannot fight.
It wonders why it has to survive.
As it floats around, it begs for the life
It once had in its past time.
As it is slowly shrinking in size,
The ice wonders why, oh why.

The ice’s foe enjoys his fun,
Living wildly under the sun.
The foe knows his materialistic behavior,
Does no good for him nor Mother Nature.
As the foe carelessly continues his unruly rights,
Why, oh why, wonders the ice.

With no defense, the ice moves along, hoping its past life will return.
The sky looked down at nature’s work. It too, mourned and yearned.
Slowly shrinking and passing by,
The ice wonders why, oh why.

I remember when it used to snow.
I’d stare in awe out my window.
‘You’ll get frostbite!’ I was told.
Now, I’m old and it barely gets cold.

I remember when it used to snow.
Even at night, you could see it glow.
The birds would leave, but now they stay.
Even they’re confused in these “winter” days.

I remember when it used to snow.
O my, wasn’t it beautiful?
My niece questions on the way to home,
“What did it feel like, the snow?”

winter's melancholy cold
as we fry in Satanic heat
a Hell of our own making

we cut the earth and made her bleed
for greed and war and hate and waste

Summer Days splashing in the river
The bike ride down
The wind in my face
My hair dancing with the breeze
I wish
every
Day
was like This

Dad,

Hanging up his hammock
While me and Maddie walk up the river
Making up our own games
And convincing Dad to let us
Swim in the river
Though the current was rough
I remember how he would sometimes
Say
“yes”
Letting the water
Engulf our bodies
Pulling us gently
Downstream

Years ago
I didn’t realize
I didn’t see how quickly
How quickly our world is disappearing
How quickly the water has dried up
Those days
Slipped out of my hands like water
Slowly          evaporating
Slipping from my hands
Dripping into some place
That is unknown

Someday
I will visit this place
The past of my life
The perfect days by the river
Someday.

Sometimes, I think about our future children
Who will grow up not knowing of the stars
Or of splashing in streams of childhood

But only
Black smog and masks
Filtering the poisons we have put
In our lungs

Will they find familiar
Dead animals, dead plants
A dead Earth?

I wonder
If they will be able to run in fields
Without glass between shrubs and on their feet?

Will they know a life?
Outside of the dystopia of our own making?

Meanwhile, here we sit
Living our lavish lifestyles
Not having a care about
Who dies in the process?

Do we not believe
The polar bear who drowned
From a lack of ice
Has a right to live as well?

Or the animals who starve
From humankind's greed
To eat lavish fish and exotic plants.

Do we not think twice
On pumping our plants
Full of toxins
That destroys every insect and ****
From the inside out
In our bodies?

Do we have no idea that eventually
Our land will hold heat so well
We may no longer dine
For everything is dead?

Or will we only care
When the melting ice
Has flooded our towns

Destroying brick homes
And picket fences with
Swingsets in the backyard.

Will it only matter
When we cannot grill meat
Produced from suffering

Or when there is no more profit to be made
From pumping our rivers with manmade monsters

Wonder about our future children
How will they grow
Living a life of disease and death.

But no, it will only matter
When us in the present start dying.

Even more, it will only be of importance
When it isn’t killing people across the world
But in our own homes.

It will not be significant
Until you lose a mother, a best friend
A lover, a child.

Sometimes I wonder about the children
And I apologize
For the life we have condemned them to.

We are drowning
not in water, but in silence,
each breath swallowed,
a hollow echo of what once was.

The sky forgets the blue it once wore,
now draped in smoke-thick sighs,
the wind hums of almosts and befores,
while hope slips away beneath the tides.

And the sun, now too tired to fight,
bleeds light into a sea that won’t remember,
its warmth wearing down
dying like a goodbye that came too soon.

Islands reach, grasping for air, for mercy,
fingers of earth, worn down by our neglect,
their shadows stretch, long and desperate,
suffocating beneath the weight of what we chose to ignore.

Plastic ghosts cling to the shorelines,
whispering lullabies in a language
we refuse to understand,
as they slowly choke on the promises we broke.

Every wave folds a secret into itself,
ice that cracks beneath the weight of silence,
echoes of futures we threw away,
suffocated by the choices we refuse to face.

Like writing a book where the plot is clear,  
yet still, you're caught by the ending,
the ending you could have rewritten
but chose instead to leave as it was.



We carve comfort into the sea’s bones,
etching “it’s fine” into rising tides,
yet every flood speaks what we won’t
this silence isn’t survival, it’s surrender.



(and here is a haiku based off of that <3)

I watch and I wait,
thinking it is not my fight
the tide swallows time.

we thought the sea's fate
was never ours to carry,
so we let it sink.

Footprints on wet sand,
washed away before I move
was I ever here?