She’s not all up and running,
She’s not out and about,
She’s sitting at the moment,
With her lips pressed together.
She writhes with pain,
Not just from conceiving
But also from deception,
Accompanied by rejection,
And what feels like hatred.
Too bad she can’t escape,
Or lock herself in a room,
If only that’d be possible…
She might somewhat recover,
And ease her desire of revenge.
Mother earth is tormented,
Cumbered with pain and anguish,
She hides her face from the light of day,
Her eyes are red from weeping.
A mother ought to love at all times,
Though her son be a thief-
A sore wound to society,
Or even a reckless drunkard,
Who takes a wee in public,
And does a Moonie before an audience,
Earth keeps weeping
She weeps because of tunnels,
Sewage tunnels that once had water,
Broken trees that covered her nakedness,
Smog and smoke which hurt her eye,
Her tears keep rolling down,
Filling oceans and seas,
Though her son sees them,
He looks away in ignorance,
While tides hit the walls of his chamber,
With time he might be swept off,
But she’s still pressing her lips together
Enduring the prevailing pain.
“Cover my nakedness with a robe,
Dry my tears, wipe my face.
Bring me a nice meal,
My hand I’ll stretch to bless you”,
Says mother earth in anguish.
But nobody listens,
Her son is out playing a flute,
So loud that he can’t hear,
Though he’s got all the notes wrong.
He rides on an unknown tone
Thinking that he might famous be.
His music notes spell pain and strife,
A note of ‘nuclear power’,
Another of ‘aerosol sprays’,
With intervals of ‘exotic species’
She’s in a hospital bed,
Writhing in pain in anguish,
Her deep cuts dripping with blood,
You may not cure her if you tried,
At least lick her wounds
-Liz Mish Poetry-