pollution

Callum Featherstone

A message from Gaia.

Where did all the compassion go?
Is it lost; in the Sun’s, ashen glow?
Is it locked; in hearts, that unfasten, slow?
Please, find it, and, return it to Me.

I talked to My Brother;
testy Ares,
His rage spoke of Him watching,
Me burn, convulse and freeze.
He saw those smothering,
fleshy fairies,
self-caged, hate-soaked, plotting,
with yearned pulse, for Me, to seize.

My Sister; loving Aphrodite, too,
cried, agonised,
weeping, at human destruction,
Her dusty tears, made clouds of ash.
Her vista turning, grey, from blue,
My blackened eyes,
from bloody knuckles, of consumption.
Unjust; I fear; gnawing fists, unabashed.

I heard My Siblings, both, and vowed,
never again,
to become, abused and broken,
enduring an insane plight, scared,
and, rid Myself, of this parasite.
This poison growth, is overproud,
severing Men,
will leave Me bruised, yet, awoken,
from an inhumane nightmare,
and, back, to health, and joy, and light.

Where did all the compassion go?
Is it lost; in the Sun’s, ashen glow?
Is it locked; in hearts, that unfasten, slow?
Please, find it, and, return it to Me.

Callum Featherstone

Lost, properly

Another

night lost –

to this infernal game

of sleep. Another light lost –

to this internal

flaming

heap.

Another day, found; wanting,

ever-seeking, left

behind. Suffer

darkness;

unfounded: daunting,

ever-creeping, when in mind.

Another time or another place,

Another line on another face,

Another calm before the storm,

Another baby to be born.

Another life is another death,

Another fight for another breath,

Another want, another need,

Another plot – for which to bleed.

Another jab, another hook,

Another play – not by the book,

Another lie becomes the truth,

Another, “why?” crushed under boot.

Another step in lands of Hinter,

Yet, another long, bleak winter,

One more liberty carelessly lost,

Bitterly frozen by piercing frost.

Another

toll cost – to

the extending tarmac

adam. Another soul lost – to

the never-ending

blackened

chasm.

Another scarlet debtor, found;

humanity is justly,

repossessed.

Smothered faces

turn raging red, thrusting,

brutality; into Robin’s breast.

Callum Featherstone

Do the colder months collude?

And, I wonder,

are the colder months colluding?

Would warring Winter, pause?

Could audacious Autumn, wait?

Or, does the vexed, brooding

and unruly thunder

shape the sordid

cause

of the lightning,

hale, snow and rain?

Why does the gourmand, wolfy-pack,

have to, spit,

growl, and, attack,

the Spring, and, the Summer?

Do they resent;

the clement, balmy days.

Or, just, yearn to take their place?

Mankind has reached it’s own;

November,

suffering unscrupulous mists; a fog of charging cheats,

compassion is a disillusioned ember, smothered and crushed

below;

fraught

autumnal

feet.

A stampeding fall persists,

clenched in the dying undergrowth,

of doomed and dark deceit.

So, do the colder months collude?

That remains, forever, to be

seen.

But, the human race to season, enroot, ended in; self-defeat.

Fallen;

from favour;

from grace;

gone

trees.

A final, lonely leaf of fortitude;

fell, and, lost, beyond the evergreen.