Finished the annual report the other day,
the prognosis is rosy--say, what'd I say?
The spin-doctors spin and the world goes round,
can you still hear that still, small sound?
That underground rumble of global unrest,
it smolders and simmers and puts us to test.
It cries in the stomachs of hungry babes,
it hides in the eyes, sunken like caves.
It lingers in the conscience of a growing aware,
it waits like a cat, to pounce and snare.
It floats in the flotsam of extinction debris,
down the Amazon to the death of the sea.
One day it will rise up and take us by surprise,
fear and loathing we will see with their eyes.
As the world turns and society churns,
to the sound of explosions in the street.
Women screaming and nothing to eat,
as the world crumbles under the heavy feet.
Of oppression and greed.
Image Courtesy Rainforests.net
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Copyright 2006 © Ronald W. Hull
2/25/06