Poem: PPM

 

PPM

 

the sky hammered, day in and out,

as if making its own Ark. 

 

it must have hated us,

we who had billowed coal for so long,

we who choked the sapphire,

sooted both Hesperus and Phosphorus--

 

we who didn’t bother

to care about the force of storms.

we who failed to honor

the realms uprooted and ruptured,

sacrificed like Iphigenia

to cruel gods of plunder and ego.

 

the sky hammered.  on and on.

it wanted to end all this.  it knew

the clicks and likes and taps and swipes

of our electronics would not save us.

we who had taken and expanded,

only to become small.

 

even before the start, had it been set?

a predestiny of thugs

who wolfed all the food?

to harness fire, with tools and lust,

was it, in the end,

a harbinger of damning rain?

 

but no.  it need not have been.

the world could have been adored.

heaven in intent. virtue.  trust.

a rulership of truth, not wicked men.

not lied to.  not devastated.

and so the sky hammered.

 

 

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