oil
Learn more about other poetry terms
Mother Earth weeps
Not with sorrow,
With rage.
Her rage is found in
The fire that razed Paradise,
The storm that destroyed San Juan,
In a land down under
Their corpses lay
Compressed under the weight
One Thousand souls
A hundred thousand more
All lost to time
But with you, no more
their bodies will be harvested
America the Great? More like America's a fraud,
Stealing from the poor, trying to keep up their facade,
Polishing their shoes with the sweat of hard workers,
Blaming us for their troubles when they're the real shirkers,
MLA format
is cruel
to the trees.
Those pale promises
of untouched space
on the backs of papers
What are we?
what are we but a mere two specks on a world of seven billion?
what is our world but an average-sized sphere amongst a limit of spheres to which we know no bound?
It bubbles
Up up UP from OUR ground!
What's the trouble
With what was found?
Why can't we drill
Down down down into our OWN land?
Yes, it CAN kill.
It can even dirty a hand!
Gazing into the bowels of the beast known as Boomtown
I watch as its victims succumb to the temptations
The depravations
The unending depreciation
Of small-town America
All sparked by a foul-smelling black fuel.
