And no birds sing
discard makes a home
where no birds sing
force-halting spring
robins catbirds doves and jays
fey voices stuttered ends become
for hand unseen some starlings vie
but cardinals unfavored quiet-die
the blame their share for joys disposed
mountains we claimed, unearthed
stripped bare the life once wild
now humbled harmed and broken
rivers plastic floes consumed
their mouths a gum of chemicals
run-off to brew the silence final-formed
no habitat unborn untouched
and no birds sing
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6 comments:
the quiet words are screaming
The whole earth groans. The plastic soup, the bacterial mat, and this of which you speak must break the heart of the Artist. Rain no longer washes us clean. Maranatha.
an appropriate poem for this day this year, sadly.
Maryann said ...
The universe is sobbing. Humanity needs to listen.
Mmmmm.
(that's what came out of my mouth when I reached the last word. You capture the unspeakable with your words.)
what an aching sound is the absence of bird song ...
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