Sanity’s Loss
by Odin Roark

A singularity season has encroached on nature,
becoming a gluttonous global house of ill repute,
greed’s celebrated landscape-whoremaster,
inevitability’s polluted tempest,
pimping out innocence into life’s ocean,
where slime remains all that’s alive.

High above and deep within
the cleavage of her once proud peaks,
holds fast to disappearing glacial pools,
reduced to but poisonous tears
spilling out over a valley’s naked skin
stripped of all modesty and dignity.

Polluted and diseased,
tributaries are violated,
her legs made to spread,
dragging more half-dressed
trees and wild flowers into
the seductive mission
to lure into death,
as if a paradise of darkness could ever replace
the peak-a-boo game of clouds and sun,
or rain’s tap dancing revues atop the lakes,
driven by the choruses of once singing birds
mingling their dissonance with the wolf’s solo howl.

Yet…

The very world nature has served so well
has been struck dumb,
flaunting consumer arrogance
to vanquish its surroundings with debauchery,
turning sky’s once tumbling billows of foreplay
into a heavy sadness, a stillborn toxic mote,
whose density of abuse continues smothering earth’s life-light
into but a cyclic rotation of impotence.