Our Mother Poem by John Calvin Cochrane

Our Mother

We reap for Her, with a destructive display,
while we assume it granted to steal day after day.
The while her gifts, we allow displayed and adorned
with such disregard, unto all, with which we are born.

Blind and weakened in such doubted faith,
shedding none, but for us, in this selfish haste.
We look toward borrowed skies, once so blue.
From whence we came? Answered only by you.

Raping her lands, we reign upon soil.
As villain we take, we pillage, and spoil.
This lust for greed, which never we fill.,
For this, the blood forever shall spill.

I think in all, she has delivered us in fate;
our gracious Mother, speaking maybe too late.
Speaking for all, any admission of such guilt,
amongst the ruins of what she has built.

For all of this, in which I have spoke,
she may handle justice with a fiercest of cloak.
The truth ere be found, hence lost in the past,
no clues shall we find in the shadows she’ll cast.

We scything peoples, thus once it’s too late,
our Mother shall thrust upon us a darkest state.
Her bloodied waters, so scourged and black,
thy fiercest Mother will deliver us back.

John Cochrane