Parched …

Gloom, bloom, doom.
It’s summer, and everything is in bloom,
But the gray skies strive
To hide the downpour that’ll revive.

Each drop of water is precious,
As it cleanses, moistens the gracious
Ground that mixes water, soil, and deteriorating
Vegetation fuse together and are nourishing ..

To the soil, parched for nutrients,
Only rain gives and inundates
The ground with vitamins
That helps vegetation be man’s lungs,

As the destructive man pollutes,
Decimates and ruins
Farm lands as he turns
Them into bare deserts,

We look upon what we’ve wrought,
Feeling helpless as fishes caught
In a net of our making. As we fought
To reverse our destructive blot.

By Malakkc

I'm a Canadian whose life has been interesting as I've lived in Developing countries and here. The contrast of law, order, and amenities available to us Canadians (which we take for granted, sometimes) to war torn civil wars is enormous. It leaves an influence upon the soul that cries out for justice. My poetry and writing reflect that and more.

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