Rising waves

The rising waves hit the sand
that already teeters on the edge,
the rocks that have no choice but to settle
on the line between poor and poorer.

The smog clears in L.A. and New York City
and that is supposed to be the silver lining?
The rich devils came to collect their souls
and they gave them to protect their angels.

He is not allowed to cry as the sapling shrieks
but the sweat on his brow sobs rolling thunder
for the great dragon's trunk, severed in two,
the guilt clings under his nails no matter how he scrubs.

She once danced to the rainforest and listened to the wood.
Now she can hardly fall asleep as her beloved stars choke.
Stop papa, she begs as her stomach wrecks her mind.
Damp I'm sorrys water the hard, hard ground.

The baby is born into a world of disillusion
where "politics" means more than "truth." 
The bird mimics the whirring machines and he claps.
The earth weeps for all the bird calls he will never know.

Tomorrow the snow will be black and they'll stare
one second, before the phone pings with a message.
Children catch grey snowflakes on their tongues and 
never wonder why it tastes like smoke.

The lines have blurred beyond comprehension.
The problems trickle down, as oily plastic clogs
our pores of sense and when it's finally too late,
the earth's tears will swallow our concrete stupidity

and wash our regretful bones away.