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The Death of Nature

A message came to me last night,
a miracle it was, at that.
I really listened well. It might
have been a phrase, one that

I had heard a hundred times
before. “Leave her low, suffering skies,”
it shrieked. I trembled, hearing, “Crimes
are made!” “Nobody lies”,

I said. “Oh, they’re there, thinking now.
So how can you be left to sleep?”
“Again, you’re right, so what’s done now
that you my slumber from me keep?”

“My job, annoyed, aware, awake,
to keep you is. Many fears I
hope to create. I’ll merely make
a mockery of where you lie!”

“Be gone or tell me who you are!
My conscience can’t, unaided, cause
this nearly numbing nausea. Car,
one killer, before me was.

And jets and gases in the air,
and oil on the water’s waves,
when I was not, were always there
to maim life. Not one man saves

foreverness. Forget these fears!”
“Within the head of only one
at many times, throughout the years,
have wars with wickedness begun.

And many victories have been
the pride of man. Is he not here
upon the earth? You must have seen
the real forsaken fate you fear.

This is not Verne. No fantasies
does Nature write. And now, so sick,
she leaves her lost and loved beauties
with you, the killing thief. To kick

and beat her is what you have done,
to barely breath, you’ve let her fall.
And though you may be only one-
with courage, one can surely call

a stop to murders.” I could hear
and understand what had been said.
Through this miracle, a fear
I feel of finding Nature dead.

COPYRIGHT 2000 by Michael Bonanno
LOC Reg. #TXu 934-647

Reproduction of “The Death
of Nature” or any part
therein without the express
written consent of Michael
Bonanno, is prohibited, except
in “fair use” cases

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                                                                                                                               (and some other assorted foolish verses)