Signs in the skies at the end of the world
rushing wind, with fiery tongues,
as thunder rolls across the oceans floors, and moons
turn blood red in the sky, or hang blue
in the heavens on sacred nights
while the sun is darkened at midday, by the shadow
of a dog that never bit no one, as we ask for a sign,
and the universe is singing.
An iceberg shatters in the North and drifts slowly
into a trembling eternity, while we all dance like
there is no tomorrow, rolling in beds
of wealth that we never deserved, poached from the lives
of families we never knew.
I wonder about hope, as I sit outside a church waiting for
a sign from clouds that obscure the heavens.
They found a polar bear in a rubbish dump
in Siberia- what a hell! She'd lost her babies,
somewhere in the smog of humanity. How did it come
to this? I cried on David Attenborough’s shoulder,
while he turned another page, folding it over on
mankind’s crumbling destiny.
I paid the invoice for my “mixed recycle bin” the other day,
it felt
like a high price to save a failing planet, but then I swam
in a sea of goodness over sands that sparkled
beneath waves of happiness, and I told God that
I could live here forever.
And driving home in my vehicle, that sprayed fumes
of poison on the struggling daisies along the roadside,
I asked myself, is there any hope left on this still
and gentle autumn day.
I watched some irises push through the dirty
ground beneath a laden guava tree, outside in my scruffy
garden.
I thought there might still be, life and joy
in a world eclipsed with greed. That there’s still a fat chance of
hope.
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