Portentous Prognosis

Portentous Prognosis long poem

Image courtesy of: dogayakacis.com

(If Mother Earth could speak…)

I’m the first light of dawn setting fire to the skies,
the awe that ends with a soft, sated sigh.
I’m the slow, gentle sway of ancient, lofty trees,
branches of life filled with wonders to be.

I am sands and seas; a warm summer breeze
blowing soft, whispered tunes over ever-changing dunes.
I am stars in the heavens sailing high overhead,
the sun and the moon on their tireless threads.

I’m the love of life; the pulse your heart,
the strength of will in a lovers fine art.
I’m the beaming smile on the fearless face
of a victorious child at the end of a race.

“And what are they doing now…

Waves of hate
washing wasted fields,
decimating all
as they reap tainted yields.”

You’re the time and motion in an open frown,
a smirk beneath the paint of a terrified clown.
You’re the only solution to a worlds desperate cries,
swollen cheeks scarred by too many lies.

You’re a baby’s cry in a cold, stagnant pond;
all it could have been, had it lived much beyond
the cull of the clan or the whaler’s call,
so many lonely roads, at the back of every mall.

You are every grain of sand escaping clutching hands
of every grieving parent in war-torn lands,
carried aloft upon the jet-streams breath,
washed up on beaches that have seen too much death.

“And what are they doing now…

Can’t they see beyond
their selfish greed;
their lascivious needs?

Can’t they be stopped
before the frenzy grows
too fearsome to feed?”

I am the here and now since the dawning of time,
crying confusion at a wasted design.
The questioning gaze on so many tired faces,
a distant rumble felt beneath shallow graces.

I’m the giver of life, each equal to another,
taker of too many wasted sisters and brothers.
Another broken heart from a loss felt too soon,
a cold wretched cry from across a crowded room.

I am the heavens roar on a wild, stormy night,
torrential vengeance of a thunderhead’s might.
A raging wrath you don’t ever wish to wake,
I am nature’s grace that you choose to forsake.

“And what are they doing now…

Sending to the fields
of fruitless death,
their sacrificial sons
breathing borrowed breaths

Unleashing desolation
from way up high;
A tempest of hate-filled
and remorseless fires.”

I’m the molten rock spewing from natures wounds,
the ear-piercing shriek of her decimating winds.

I’m the Tsunami washing away the filth of your deeds,
the quaking earth to halt your murderous greed.

I’m the tornados teeth, tearing lives apart,
the landslide burying your empty hearts.

I’m the freezing avalanche covering all in its path,
the raging storm unleashing thunderous wrath.

I am the flood; the torrent; destroyer of all,
the deluge of death at the reapers call.

“And what are they doing now…

Beseeching the heavens
with open hands
in the wasted remnants
of once rich lands?

Written by Darren Scanlon, 31st December 2014
Revised 20th July 2015.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Darren Scanlon

Darren Scanlon

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
ALL POEMS ©2015 DARREN SCANLON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. * Words and music have always played a major role in my life. A life without being able to enjoy music and express in words would be, for me, empty and cold.I have been writing since age 16, some 30+ years now but have only recently started publishing my works. Since doing so in Dec 2013, I have published 4 novels and 5 volumes of poetry, (available on Amazon.co.uk).My words are my life. If they touch you in any way, if you are able to take something from them, then my work has achieved its goal and I am a happy man.Welcome to my world. Darren.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Prognosis

Prognosis short poem

Did you foresee it? It was coming. The freaked guilt of failed attempt to get yourself kissed by a flame in the androgynous temptation of dark. One legitimate delay in dying of moon’s tears? The weather had fizzled out during