World Wails Poem by Timothy Faboade

She rolls and rolls in the pool
Dug deeply by the ones she keeps
With innumerable destructive tools,
Just to suite the insatiable needs.

From the hexed forbidden tree
Lying at the heart of the lone Garden
They get the tools for fun and free
And unto her, the host, a large laden.

Her eyes blinded, ears deafened,
Hands tied, legs fettered, she curls
Her promising existence threatened,
Though growing sparingly in the hurls

Her beautiful glories in morning wither,
Descreation, a tool, they a part employ,
Her face, with mess and dirt, they litter.
For her ruins the jinxed tools are deploy'd.