I yearn for a time when
We have an earth
a home
where we have
butterflies not plastic bags
Seahorses not troughs of sea trash
Fruitful forests not funerals or forests.
I ache for the
gray skies and
poisoned water
to dissipate.
We are Earths Murder.
Her spiteful significant other
Always asking.
Always taking.
Celebrating one day a year.
Already prepping for a life without her.
Yet
not recognizing were the reason for her
destruction, hurt, and pain.
We are the abuser.
We have to face our actions
before she cuts us off.
It's already happening.
We have to change the bags back to butterflies
Remove the trash from the sea horses home
Revive the families of trees
Return the color to the sky
Rejuvenate the water.
Water. Trees. Sky.
The basis of life.
It all must be done
Before she is done with us.