Mother Nature’s Son


  It’s only when the world stops spinning do you realise you’re wrong to think it ever stopped. It turns forever into a quiet evening and the residual change is but pockmarks on an ambivalent face. It does not care for you or I for we are but dead skin waiting to be shed. Suckling babes that know not what the future holds when we are torn, kicking and screaming, from mother Earth’s malnourished bosom. Life beyond her warm embrace as our descendants rip and tear and rape her like their ancestors before them, until she dies.

And she will die.


~ by Joseph Blame on October 17, 2010.

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