The Manifesto Of Eden Poem by robert down

Our streets that sleep
Instead choke and weep.
With their woeful guilt
as they begin to wilt.
What is to become of them
or the animals that inhabit the upper stem.
Never mind where our sewers leak
to never ending creeks
of abysses that resides underneath.
That is where we belong.
Where they are: They deeply dwell beneath,
Under our feet that steep on our failing streets.

I wonder why were here?
In this Heaven that encases our sole.
Do they feed: as a bee would spread the pollen.
Is our hatred spread, amongst the standing and the fallen.

To come from the sea, still affected by the norseating spell; for this is no Hell?
But land is different, we have no where for our hate to run, for it pollutes the gutters although we shun
That lead beck again, repeating, repeating, repeating and rehearsing for the 'oppresses'.
They will come, in dribs and drabs till they are here and we are there beneath.
As we deserve. As we should be but I am scared and don't want to leave, born to bleed.
For I am human and can only take, but at least create...