Poetry-Thing Thursday: Best Left for Dead?

Our greatest achievements,
may be the final nail,
in a series that’s secured,
our coffin’s lid and veil.

Cars and planes,
trucks and trains,
all spitting smoke and bile,
in atmospheric style.

Meanwhile great earth-movers,
cut tracks and grooves,
into our fragile soil.

And deep in the cities,
our stars are gone,
even past them it pities,
to look where no man can reach:
the sky’s beauty is taken,
by our polluted bleach.

If only we’d been smarter,
and kept our minds open,
then our greatest achievement,
would have spared us the pavement.

perhaps we’re best left for dead.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: As Waters Rise

As waters rise,
cities drown.
The air gets colder,
Society breaks down.

The harshest winter,
known to man,
will leave us all dead,
unless we can,

escape our fate,
by changing our present,
Maybe then our future,
won’t become something
our children resent.

So think of that,
next time you throw,
your trash out,
or your exhaust billows.

For now we have one Earth,
and unless we are careful,
it will be our last–
forever sterile.

So live it up if you want,
but never forget,
it’s not us that’ll pay,
but those not born yet.

Bonus Poem: Final Breath

Bred by the heart that’s caught fire.

Claw at the back in simile.

In more than only name.

And yet,
to thrust,
pierce fate,
a word used most in hate.

So we stand,
amid rust,
society decayed,
to carry on as we must.

But when,
blown to dust,
our greatest feat,
We’ve no recourse but to admit defeat.

But such,
is Nature’s gust,
when soiled by us,
and left in a fuss.

She will,
with her great crust,
up-heave and quake,
not stop ’til we awake.

And from,
the miserable thrum,
of cyclic life and death,
compel from us our final breath.