If only it could weep.
Or at least regurgitate
as a geyser
hot contaminated blood which gushes rather than seeps
downs it’s constricted dirt
unable to gurgle
while drowning in sorrow.
Prevented it’s ability to speak.
Our soil’s peaked
trampled under the soles of arrogant feet
marching to prideful beats defeating unity
soiling sandy beaches
polluting city streets with a stench rising from beneath a global sweltering heat which churns our stomachs as curdled milk.
Our soil dies after generations repeat the sins of their fathers.
As consciences delete morals.
Souls replete with vices God despised.
Stripped the land of thoughtfulness and time.
Yet, our soil will again thrive
under righteous guidance
love and nurturing
Deleted wicked weeds
choking away breath needed to revive its seeds.
Resuscitated soil will praise them–A King under his Father’s Sovereignty.
For indeed they will save him from total depletion
from the greedy hearts and grabbling fingers
So, our soil will persist and resist
but soon will flourish as if moistened by rains
and rinsed by rushing rivers
into a peaceful