ADAM by Tom Kingsley

ADAM
When dark, foreboding clouds condense,
to drop their blessings as a curse,
and righteous floods expunge our sins,
for better or, more likely, worse,
will we regret the chances missed?
Will we repent our practised lies,
mourn loves unspent, rue lips unkissed,
and our silken fist with its thin disguise?
Or shall we try to shift the blame
to innocents and victims all,
and never hang our heads in shame
but strut, aloof, where we should crawl?
Some say the darkness is to come,
but no-one ever knows just when.
Some try to mute the beaten drum,
the warning cry of nature’s friend,
though darkness is already here.
It’s in the hearts of powerful fools,
whose truths we never get to hear.
They move the goalposts, bend the rules.
They’d spend a billion children’s lives,
before they’d let their empires fall.
We wonder why such evil drives
their egos to not care at all.
When will we start to do the work
that billionaires will not assume,
that politicians always shirk:
to plant and grow, but not consume?
When will we make the burden ours,
and refuse to play the waiting game?
The time we’ve left we count in hours,
so, let’s strive with unambiguous aim
to save what life the Earth has left,
to do what Adam was supposed
to do, not leave our only home bereft
of nature and our sins exposed.

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