As fools we spite the land,
Cutting into her flesh with drill and scalpel,
Rubbing salt in the wounds,
A different kind of salted earth,
Her very flesh stolen as ore,
Her own blood wielded as torture,
A stinging iron maiden,
We rub it in,
Taking gifts with clawed hands,
Plundering and pillaging,
Diamonds and salt and gold,
We laugh all the way to the bank,
But we’ll be the fools,
Our own doomsayers,
As salted earth,
Becomes scorched earth.
The earth speaks out,
Tectonic truths in waves,
The rumbles come,
And upon them comes the moleman,
A priest in filthy vestments,
Slouched and indistinct from ore,
Conducting each quake in totality,
He preached in earthy tones,
Each verb a stone to the head,
He was an unassuming critter,
As humble as his namesake,
But his speech was steadfast,
Sermons extolled through two teeth,
Through unseeing eyes,
Despite his inhuman form,
He meant no harm,
This humble mole is just delivering epistles,
From the titans writhing below,
Magma and raging stone,
Voices of the planet,
Sounds we no longer hear.
I once left my body,
Off into the night,
Not into a dream,
Nor into my mind,
But careening into the sky,
Imitating a cosmonaut,
I found myself in an ethereal state,
Riding the coat tails of a comet,
Like a wandering gentleman,
Swept right up,
On a cruise through the cosmos,
Surfing through the silver,
I saw stars die in colour,
And be born from the void,
Attempted slow dances with meteors,
Finger painted with nebulae,
Excursions upon the edges of black holes,
A stellar vacation,
Despite the Earths assertions,
Of sheer importance,
Declarations of eminence,
I could barely glimpse it in the black,
It became an afterthought,
Just another speck.
WorldofHarley 