Skip to main content

Poem of the Week

When I am 75-Poem
Natural disasters are common,
In this land of mine.
This is what will become when I am seventy-five.
Flooding and rising,
Has led to the destruction of lowlands and islands.
The ice caps have melted, and this is out of our hands.
Oceans span most of the globe,
Deep down beyond the blue,
Lies a wasteland, this is true.
No Amazon, to soothe our smoky lungs,
They have dried out,
No clean air, not enough to shout.
Of grass and flowers,
In their places deserts have grown,
And cities remain deserted, the birds have flown.
Flee your country, from the devastation,
In the last few lands, civilization breaks,
A time of fear is upon us, make no mistake.
The life of five degrees, is as horrible as we make it,
Just one degree and,

The end of life as we know it.

What do you think about this? Comment below!
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Freedom

'Freedom,' Said the Holy Book, 'Is a poor man's dream. It is nothing but an illusion. You would do well to ignore the fanciful imaginings and return to Earth and help your friends and family.' He was a poor man, and this was his dream. 'Work hard, give freely,' Said the Holy Book, 'And you shall receive.' He had nothing to give, he worked hard already. 'Aspire to be great,' Said the Holy Book, 'Work to achieve it and you will be great.' He only wanted to be free. 'Suicide is a dishonorable way to leave,' Said the Holy Book, 'It implies selfishness and unwillingness to share with others.' It wasn't going to be so bad. He picked up the knife, gleaming sharp and made the first cut. Blood flowed out like water breaking through a dam. Again and again he sliced. Again and again the sharp edge cut through skin flesh and bone like paper. The knife made a clattering sound on the floor. He says, ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Poem of the Week

Deception-Poem Soft goes silken sheets, Rustling as they cover up, The hard, unyielding truth. Soft is the pillows, Beckoning for rest. Easy is the way to deception. Water rushes over the silver knife, Washing free the blood, And the water runs red. Snick goes the silver knife, As it returns to its home, Waits for its next victim. Truth, Honor, Honesty, And the scattered pieces of your soul. True is the flash of metal, Deception, The hiding after.
Post a Comment
Read more

Vengeance

You toss and turn in your sleep. The sheets wrinkle as you mess the neat lines of your bed. You are dreaming. Dreaming evil dreams. The voices whisper. Whisper of how you could have your revenge, they call it vengeance, but you are wary of them and ignore them. But you cannot ignore them in your sleep. They show you the future if you listen, of you finally giving Them their dues. You are seemingly happy and you agree. They tell you of things you don't want to remember, plans of things that will put into action if you just listen. And giving up, just to make them stop, you agree. You carry out every step, every item and you put their plans into action. In the morning, you hear of how They died in the night. The voices are happy with you and will gladly go away if you just do this one little thing. You have already done much worse, you are a murderer, they can't make you do worse. You agree. What do you think? Comment and tell me below!
Post a Comment
Read more