The Sleepless Abyss
Ancient soil exhales
it's encrusted breath.
We…
Elastic silhouettes,
curve and coil
in the illusion of escape.
We dance in the margins
of a coming quicksand collapse,
believing ourselves nimble enough
to sidestep the end.
Where rivers once sang,
a silent weapon waits,
forged in hubris,
It's a hungry patient,
its purpose final.
The sun…
Once golden,
now a bruised gray eye,
watches over the shoulder
Of time’s infinite edge.
The brightest star remembers
what we choose to forget.
Pollution…
The quiet stealth creation
we never named marches on,
undaunted,
unseen.
Glacier’s weep…
It's tears constant
into rising tides,
while deserts crack beneath a sky
that no longer listens.
The land…
Becomes puzzle pieces
of ruin and regret,
a mosaic of neglect galloping forward
on hooves of greed.
Black becomes
the echo of white,
life’s palette drained
to a stillborn hush.
We suffocate
in the shadows
we cast ourselves—
a requiem
written in carbon
and silence.
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My worry is that the IQ of the average reader will not understand a word of what you wrote.
Ron