The Earth Spoke

The earth spoke,
but you did not listen.
She unleashed her icecaps,
flooding your backup seeds.
She bleeds
Still, you denied her
validation, consolation, or
and I for one
am her daughter.
Instead, you over-cropped
her once fertile soil.
In vain,
you toil,
giving her hysterectomy
after hysterectomy.
Now, her barren,
water-less regions
are a breeding ground
for vigilante legions
that you armed
in order to dispense
at the flick of your wrist,
during the Cold War.
Now, you’re their whore.
They fight you
with your own guns,
and still, you sold them more.
Oh, what you’ll do for cash.
You treat our precious mother,
as though she is your cow.
All her scarred and arid
flesh wounds
are just the beginning
of how
she’s spoken.
Not quite broken,
you assume she’ll continue spinning.
The earth shook in pain.
You fracked her nerve-endings
for material gain–
a dead industry in 30 years.
You want to make sure
not one of us is left
without scars, or tears.
In your crude quest,
you penetrated
and broke her open,
you are the source
of her raping.
But, hey.
That’s industry,
of course.
When she’s not willing,
use force.
I haven’t even began to speak
of the rivers, mountains, and trees.
They too are wilting and dying
thanks to the spreading
of your disease
we call greed.
You’re blood-thirsty
in your quest for money.
You make war paint
out of all the ways
we bleed.
The earth spoke,
but you did not listen.
She broke,
then fought back
with a mission,
blowing gales and water
with eyes so wide,
sucking you inside
to keep a watch on
the ways of man
and your destructive hand.
She’ll use disease
to wipe you out,
and her arid regions,
she’ll ensure drought.
Now, tout.
You are no match
in her game of tennis.
Your small penis
is nothing more
than a feeble racket
and a losing score–
the anthem to your fall.
No more head to scratch.
You do the math,
because hell hath no furry
like a woman’s wrath
when she fights back and all.

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