Earth beneath our feet
sky above our head
everything that lies between
left in our hands is dead.
Tree to stump and
stone to sand and
skies that cry
on barren land.
Wood to ash and
stone to dust and
seas that plea
on broken trust.
Storms are a form
of retaliation
and ice is the price
of repeat generations.
Age of man is soon to fall
into an age of ice again
with crumbling of towers tall
what will we all matter then?
Cold will be the heart of earth
until she settles down at last
and takes her time to warm again
forgiving a forgotten past.
Dirt beneath our toes
clouds above our eyes
everyone that lives between
left in her hands will die.
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