Thaluun

The planet arrives to be here and by the earth the sun.
The planet deserves its space its trust within,
its branch of stature, its marveled revere.

And now its products unobtainable obtained
and used against its grain.

Its whereabouts a bead upon a cosmos fabric,
spinning around and ‘round,
lost under our want for warmth –
out blankets cover all.

An Eastern Australian fire burns. The Antarctic’s ice has shed.
Animals had they words, but whispers and moans, would ask us
what is left?
Left burnt on dirt or covered under bones.

I’ve want to stave the way. I’ve want to walk the mile.
But where do our bodies go when we only stay a while?

Of all seeds of space where others have not budded,
ours is most fertile, rain-washed and most rare.

But how do we tell our children
there are those who do not care?

Most innocence is born here, most evil dies here too.

Earth’s hour still young and sun’s hour incomprehensible.

And what books, what knowledge will be left by writers,
what art will show what we have known and what we know now?

The business as usual and ignorance of bliss,
our window of opportunity that we chose to miss.

Earth feels emptier, its dew less shiny, its sky less blue.
Our risk of overheating is not old and is not new.

There are ways but can we see them?
The smoke signal’s been sent.
With time still left over, some surety’s been spent.

There is no time for wondering, for bricks to build a home,
when foundations are slim, stale bread in arms, shooting into dark skies.

Instead of listening to ourselves, we listen to our lies.
Instead of using what we have, we bargain with our lives.

Less mystery, less wait and see.
It’s time to turn the tides.

Less waste and less pollution, less digging of the grounds,
less fracking, less forgetting, less silencing our sounds.

A parent wants to hold their children near,
to show them the horizon and tell them ear to ear
that life is not for factories, for fossil fuels or fear.

The soil is for our sanctuary, the sea for calming songs,
the space within our lungs is where clean air belongs.

Stronger is the sun, more brilliant are the shores,
purer are the stems where petals take their rung,
and clearer are the protests that we all have sung.

The planet arrives to be here, and by the earth the sun.
The earth deserves its space and trust within,
its branch of stature, its marvelled revere.

And now its vibrancy is retainable
by those who choose to hear.