DEAFENING, YET UNHEARD

When our dying planet calls,

in a moan of thunder,

when the burning rain falls,

in the heat absunder,

of the sun, on the snow walls.

when our dying planet screams,

from the mouths of her fallen children,

on the banks of her extinct streams,

for the class of bloodtraitors she calls men,

to stop their wars and regimes.

when our dying planet pleads,

with her last breath,

we just satisfy our petty needs,

by slowly causing her death,

killing the only mother who feeds.