Reaping Dust Poem by Sean Green

Consider futures none entreat
while nature dies beneath our feet
a slow death that's decades long
in a world that most belong

except the monsters who plan to die
before the forecasts are applied
to the world they deign to mind
as elders focus on dollar signs

holding money as the greater good
against the family's heritage
the wasteland will be the birthright
bequeathed by death's knowing smile

ask not for the bell now tolls
it's for the young left behind
reaping dust from coffered lies
all that's left is to surely die.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.20191117.