What’ll Be Left, My Kin?
Rather than wandering across this great nation
with eyes envisioning her conservation
to preserve her beauty for the next generations,
we continue to spin our wheels in frustration
towards the lonely neon glow of her gas stations.
The stench of the roadside rises up to the heavens
as the traffic snakes in an endless procession
of single travelers returning from their vocations.
The solutions to the crisis are existing inventions,
yet we fail to enact them
in favor of the wallets of men left unmentioned,
who choose to rape and pillage all that Mother Earth has within.
We could build up a network of train stations,
enabling us all towards wondrous vacations
and ensuring others brand new occupations.
You’d be a fool here to travel by auto as the sun shines golden,
for you shall find yourself to traffic jams beholden.
Tell me, dear kin,
what kind of world are we molding?