It is a still, still cold.
Clouds of molasses brown.
The Earth looks old.
Great edifices leaking down.
The genie has left the bottle,
like the prophets foretold,
acid etched upon the sky,
an alien environment unfold
Just inhuman humanity,
not smart enough or bold,
to stop the escalation,
before it was too late.
And the energy that
could have saved the earth,
was squandered in hate.
There'll come a nuclear spring.
A gradual warming up.
Flowers will not bloom,
nor bees fly to their cup
There will be glowing bacteria,
multiplying with greed,
on nuclear byproducts,
with all deliberate speed.
Within a billion years or so,
creatures will once again roam.
Knowing not their characteristics,
based on their primal home.
If they become intelligent,
Will they understand their birth?
Will they make the same mistakes,
or this time, save the Earth?
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End the Novel
Copyright 2005 © Ronald W. Hull
6/12/05
