The Earth’s Reckoning
The earth does not beg, nor weep, nor plead,
Yet beneath our feet, she starts to bleed.
Forests fall where steel hands rise,
Smokestacks drown the open skies.
The rivers shrink, their voices thin,
The winds grow sick with fumes within.
The ice retreats, the oceans swell,
A silent march, a tolling bell.
Yet still they build, they drill, they burn,
Chasing futures, blind to turn—
They preach of green, they sign their laws,
Yet carve the earth with sharpened claws.
Some hold power, rich with gold,
Their hands turn soil, their stories told—
They ask the poor to pay the price,
While feeding flames of their device.
Will justice rise before the sea?
Will balance hold, will nations see?
A world must grow, but must endure—
Can progress stand and still be pure?
The trees still lean, though roots grow weak,
The sky still watches, though clouds now speak.
She does not beg, nor weep, nor cry—
But if we wait, she may say goodbye.