Poems: The mapback to poem listing
Nothing better to warm my cold hands
than a cup of hot cocoa, and a map of strange lands.
Under my gaze the odd places do revive;
the atmosphere's clean, the landscape's alive.
The rivers are flowing and oceans are deep.
The trees are all swaying and the mountains are steep.
Looking down closer at all the small people
I see tiny cars, tiny schools, tiny steeples.
I see little farms and farm lands within,
that are growing small veggies to feed to their kin.
Society hustles and bustles down there
without any worries, without any cares.
I'm seeing now markets, gas stations, and stores.
I also see roads and parking lots galore.
I look to the north and a city I spot
with a sprawling cement landscape and no green, not one drop.
I look a bit closer but it's hard to see clear,
at the tuft of black smoke, flowing through the air.
I choose to ignore, back to the countryside I float
and there are the horses, the cows and the goats.
There is the grass and the ponds and the trees,
and the non-smoky, clean-as-can-be breeze.
I see all the tiny faces smiling while they go,
but what they don't see is what they don't know.
To the north there's no green, there are no small trees.
Not even the slightest clean-as-can-be breeze.
The urban decay of nature as they know it
just doesn't exist because they are never shown it.
So as long as we ignore this map of today
our tomorrow will be like every other day.
I pull my head back so that I only see
the map that is laid out in front of me.
I now just see lines that mean boundaries,
but pollution knows no lines, if you know what I mean.
So let's help the cause, let us do what is right.
I certainly think that our earth is worth the fight. |
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