soft grumbles

Browned by the summer’s heat,
this once viridescent land is dry.
Blades of grass lie motionless.
Leaves as brittle as glass
cling to thirsty branches.
Nary a cloud drifts
through the sky.

Land feels like the devil’s furnace.
It has become a cesspool
infested with gnats and rats.

Then the rains come.
It pours and pours
until the land can hold no more.
Desert becomes a sea
of brown mud, thick like spoiled chocolate
drowning everything in its path.
And so it is every year.

We were promised Eden
But we were discontented,
tried to turn nature into what pleased us.
This droll irony we brought upon ourselves
thinking we are mightier than the mighty
is taking it’s toll.

Remonstrance is not an option
to those who caused the ignominy.
No magician’s sleight of hand is applicable.
We do not need illusions when faced
with real adversity. We wait hoping
we do not perish this time.

rolly