Beneath Viridian Skies

Beneath viridian skies our children play,
the mould of this infection tainting the clouds.
Where once white breakers crashed upon azure tides
and golden silica waited to be kissed,
instead the young ones toil in a washed-out world.
This is not the Earth we’ve fought and wept for,
where tears flood the air in equal ascension and descension.
This is not the emerald smile on a cerulean, celestial visage.
I pity these children with nowhere to play,
nowhere to live, nor love.
I pity these children who hold out their palms and beg wide-eyed.
The power-brokers and tyrants, wheelers and dealers have sealed the fate of generations,
not one, nor two, but all.
What have they done?
What have we let them do?
Beneath viridian skies our children play, I watch them and weep.

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