Demolition Tears

Demolition Tears

Ancient trees are yet to see another day,

in the developing world that it has watched

for centuries before its ashes are lying

on the ground from which it grew.

A new born cub fails to grow, learn to walk,

run, hunt in his home before your giant CATS

rip his bedroom from beneath his quivering paws.

Landscapes of tranquillity crushed to the floor

rising of a new cold, concrete building

producing products for the one percent.

The slaughter of the king of the jungle

is justified for the dress that reflects

flashing cameras on the blood carpet.

Families thrown from rock to stone

with what to come is not beknown.

A child once played on a floor of fibre

now they crawl on a ground of failure

in the mind of her parents who couldn't protect her

so they walk through fields trying to remember

the times of fun, smiles and laughter.

Forests are deplenishing, the world is growing hungry

all in the hopes that your name shines in glory,

How many ‘ethically sourced’ cottons do you need

to form a rich names sleeve?

Can you say that the number of forests decreasing

is worth its pain and your gain of increasing

profit margins?

You sit on your throne made of corruption

while people work free and endlessly to find a solution

for your obsession in destruction for production.

You vacation on beaches in a location of beauty

while your creation of four grey walls

break the foundation of tradition for thousands of living beings.

Is it worth it?

A poem of anger by Wednesday Condron.