Dreams collide with a waxy moon As night rolls away, leaving dawn to break. Stirring nature unfolds into day Where a tepid sun dissolves the haze. Water coloured mountains heave To the sky as their peaks touch heaven.
Polluted thoughts, angelic sighs Rise and spread through toxic years. Days of rain wash the earth with poison, Oh what she’d give to be cleansed. There is no place untouched by us Or dolly mixture chemical chaos.
I just don’t know where this came from. I've been modding for ages and can smell aircraft fumes from our local airport is my answer I guess..I didn't want it in the nature board as my point is pollution really ... then I know we have to use planes, I do myself ... I'll shut up now
Post by apocalypticjay on Aug 22, 2009 9:43:03 GMT -5
I guess this all ties in more with nature than politics or sociology but I really get the point of disgust and the want for change which can only come from the 'top' so they say. I will leave this here for the receant news of added Nuclear power to England and Britain is a matter that really boils my blood. Your imagery and metaphors are still outstanding my friend truly inspiring!
This doesn't peel of planes to me, Kerry. It aches of Earth looking upon herself and seeing the disaster we've created. Our very existence is toxic, let alone all of the other nasty things we do to this orb. Your acute phrasing in this piece gave me the chills. H x
"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds." ~ Albert Einstein
Harklight nailed it: our existence is toxic, we are like a cancer spreading and destroying everything we touch. With that being said, I suppose that's the nature of things, all animals would do this if given our conscience and maneuverable thumbs, I suppose. But getting back to your poem, I wholeheartedly agree. The airplane is one of the most toxic creations built by man when it comes to air pollution. Human nature to destroy our home (Mother Earth) for the sake of time and convinience. Your vivid imagery coupled with the powerful messages of your poetry never ceases to amaze me, Kerry.
Chairs thrown and tables toppled Hands armed with broken bottles Standing no chance to win, but We're not running, we're not running