The Lost Ones

Just a small tribute to something we often forget to be grateful for.

They don’t treat you well,
my Mother, my queen.
They taint you and mock you
and rape you and bleed you.

They scorch your pocked skin
and they dig for your bones.
They pick at your limbs
and ignore your taut moans
of pain, of sorrow, of disappointment.

They’ve lost the way,
they’ve forgotten the truth.
Your billions of children
are cold and ruthless
and love you no more.  

They lift their arms
and no longer remember
what those arms are for.
They’re lost in their fever
of greed and advancement.

And oh, sweet Mother,
close your eyes to the way
that they strike one another! 

But trust that one day
they’ll grow wise to their ways.
They’ll be forced to realize
the fools they’ve been made.  

They’ll return to your bosom,
wild and free,
they’ll climb through your forests
and bathe in your seas.
And they will remember
the ways they’d rejected,
and Mother, at last,
you’ll be resurrected.