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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Environment · #2350949

Inspired by a German literature professor talking about Western environmental fiction.

You preach a sensual naturalism
To a world still crowded with gods;
Ever more religious it seems,
While you ignore their jihads.
Its a strange, thin tune to most ears,
Yet you dance, your body swaying,
Sing of clean water, clean air,
Green plants growing, flowers displaying

You sing your songs beneath
An utterly empty sky.
Have you not learned God’s language,
Grammar few can now deny?
Why do the flowers grow at all,
Lifting petals to the light?
Why should we guard their beauty
Blooming softly in our sight?

Yes, you’re right to guard your flowers,
Fragile things in a fragile day;
But the winds blow hard from regions
Where no hearts for them hold sway.
They carry poisons ruthless,
Make the trembling petals fall;
And though your science is honest,
It won’t move the poor at all.

For hunger shouts much louder
Than a mine’s slow-burning doom;
The choice of car or color bins
Ignored by smog bound souls in gloom.
Maybe someone reads your stories,
Nods along the fragile way...
But the tyrant never listens,
And the Preacher looks past today.

So the world decays in shadows
Round the garden where you play.
Tell me, how long will it blossom
’Fore the East wind sweeps your way,
And the stems grow stiff and withered,
And your blossoms fade to gray?


Notes
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