Updated: Jan 26
You’re hearing daily, tipping point,
titanic struggle, about face,
what lurks beneath, once out of sight,
is clearer now for all to know.
We feared the underworld - best cloaked -
but bergs break, floating in the melt,
and undercurrents making waves
as latent heat is swelling seas,
our islands sunk in water grave.
Will white bears hunt where brown have been?
As crow’s nest lookout warns ahead
some claim they cry out wolf again,
sure prophecies of doom misled
and we must preserve privilege;
there is no profit, dying earth,
our birth-right sold for pottage mess.
Yet few, it seems, will meet the cost,
except our children’s children, loss.
Published by The Poet Magazine Anthology ‘Our Changing Earth’ https://www.thepoetmagazine.org