polluted future

a factory choked on it’s own smoke,

painted light grey,

sits guiltily

where a lush green forest once lay.

pictures are the only memory,

a slight tethering window to the past.

bewitching natural landscapes,

compared to a time where humans won’t last.

no pasture to play in,

not an open place to roam.

for a world with many houses,

it doesn’t feel like home.

not a magpie to warble each morning,

their trees now hacked down.

not a kookaburra to laugh,

no birds left to utter a sound.

and every evening, when the polluted sun is red

and the sombre yellow moon shall arise,

will they remember what we’ve done?

will even a tear be shed from those eyes?