Savage Child

You can hear their echo screams

as the winds carry them,

beings, who will never roam

again, whose lives we

squandered,

selfishly,

failed stewards,

insanely playing

in the filth of our indulgence,

while our mother screams

behind the door,

beaten,

bruised,

her blood filling the water

as we, her abuser,

pin her down.

Every woman bears the mark

of her disregard,

her subjugation,

once exalted upon a throne

of our knowing,

worshipped for providing us

with life,

she drowns in the sea,

her blood spilling,

her children dying,

as we sit idle by,

afraid to see we are

killing her,

Our mother,

We, Her children,

savagely.

When we could love her,

care for her,

but we are too important,

though would not exist,

without her,

no, we are too important,

though will not exist,

without her.

And when they say

there’s still time,

they are lying,

failed species,

because there is still time for her,

but there is no time

for the ego of mankind

which consumes us all.

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