Pissing on the red sands,
an orange streak profaning
sterility.
“come, damn’d earth,
thou common whore of mankind”
relieve me.
I would watch your death throes from afar
the retreat of your lichens.
That sneer you had
when the plague spread.
Thy Art, old man,
is rotting in the abandoned buildings,
a last meal for the molds.
All the mountains are bald,
and the deserts roll.
The disease spread,
I am recompensed
though still dead.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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yuck
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nowthisiswhatI'm,a'talkin' about!
Barooka! This is Badass! -
Besides all the meanings of words, one day you wake up and you suddenly feel enlightened and all the skies of your memory move quickly across your mind and you are left suspended in air on a rope, waiting for the next ride to life.
I think I know you.
Maria -
Only you
would put Wilmot on Mars. But I guess he was pretty much a martian of his time wasn't he.
I am having difficulties figuring out if Wilmot is the Old Man or the one who is speaking. One minute I read it and thought it was him talking
the next I thought it was someone talking to him.
Which is it Bub? Not that it matters much because, as you know, I can make up stories quite well when it comes to your poems. It is scary. Ominous. I don't want Thy Art to be eaten by mold.
Let's make a plan to rescue it.
Gore says we got about 50 years (probably 49 now) to reverse things. His book frightened me. People who ride bikes should get rewards. I want one of those Hybrid cars. But they so expensive which is dumb but that's Imperialistic rule I suppose. Lots of stuff we can do but people mostly don't care. Not all but mostly.
It is red/pink burn like Mars. and Earth from the Greenhouse effects if we aren't careful.
Hey. You should write more.
Lisa
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It's because he followed the Thy with Art making it palatable.
this is some awesome SF poetry man!
Just kidding Lute
I mean it is awesome, but a Lute by any other planet remains the same
Blast Off!
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