Voices From The Future

• Clive Park, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2017

They continue to destroy without much fear,
unknowing, unaware, the end is near,
where are the fresh rivers we used to hear?
They clear out the breathing trees to sell,
until even their spirits no longer dwell,
who will every know the pure green smell?
The leaves of medicine with the touch of heal,
many seasons ago they felt so real,
why is their presence, one we can no longer feel?
They continually misuse and limitlessly waste,
debris, like remains from a bomb, misplaced,
what is to prevent us from forgetting a clean taste?
But to all problems there is a key,
it's not ythese ou, nor me, it's us, it's we,
when, if not now, will we ever see?
The future, where they shout to us their desperate plea