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.


The Cedar Is Me

I look upon the four hundred year old Cedar tree
That has survived such chaos, death,  decimation
Of great forests of pine trees by invaders who ‘free’
It of its natural resources, life, and vegetation.
Encased in the trunk of the ancient tree, the world
Is small, burning hot under the summer sun, flashing
Its heat and brilliance to help everything grow into a postcard
That’s photoshopped into being breathtaking
In its organized life, only disturbed by humans barking
Out order for dissolving the inner and outer beauty of its solitude.

Slipping out of the of the cedar tree, I take my human form
And gaze astounded on my reflection: wrinkled skin,
Darkened splotches, and great disillusionment
Darkens the depth of my eyes as I lay bare upon the bank.
The scenes of war and decimation I witnessed
Have been imprinted on my soul, waiting for any deed
That will alleviate my despair that humanity is a dying breed
That needs new blood, ingenuity,  and values
To help it defeat famine, war, racism, and religious discriminations.