If You Say You Don’t Miss Her Dancing, You Are Lying

A dystopian poem about the social, moral, and environmental horrors of climate change. Told through the perspective of an imaginary elder in the far future.

Why don’t we go back

to the beginning of a story,

so ancient,

so old,

Mother Earth cannot even remember it…

 

I won’t tell you my name,

But just know that I live in a world

where nothing exists anymore.

Nothing but the ruins of Her old body,

and the sad memory of

how life used to be

when She danced. 


In a dark void of intangible colors,

tainted with footfalls of green,

lived this peculiar dot.

A galactic celluloid torn at the seams

of Her five ocean blue dresses.


This energy was known as Mother Earth,

And she was beautiful.


She was this ball of divinity,

A mystical entity,

home to All that is Life.

When she danced,

Her dress exploded the colors

of heaven

and Truth.

When she danced,

In this metaphysical world of greedy dreams,

the universe was One.  

But she was also

A Mother

 to these insects called

the human race

Lost in time, lost in space,

for eternity.


These insects lived by a nature of misunderstood board games

Life to them was a simple Monopoly

They roll the dice to determine their choices and what their voices

will say to their brothers and sisters

Blaming it on chance rather than taking a stance

for what they have done.

Always looking for the next big thing,

without realizing

they were slowly killing one another

and their Mother.


Obsessions as sharp as glass shards

Up their sleeves, they would pull out cheating cards

For they wished to win this Game,

Even if it was against their own Mother

They hurt her without any shame

Yet still, they would claim

that they did not know she was their bruised opponent…

They did not know her name. 


Thus, the insects created the Crime and Sin

in which they swam in

for centuries.

Distracted by its euphoric illusion,

its promise of power. 


But what was sin without consequence?

As the Hand moved the dials of the Clock,

her criminal children eventually discovered

A New Way

to cope with the comatose state

of their Mother.

Once they realized that the leaves on Her arms

were shrinking,

and the grace in her legs sinking

deep

down

into a place too weak

to sustain

their sick needs,

these insects eventually had to leave Her

for another planet;

A rose-gold dot,

that didn’t wear the same blue and green dress She danced in.

No, this one was…


Cold as ice

To match our hearts 

Like the refugees we once rejected

We found refuge in this cold, alien world

A temporary comfort to what we’ve always struggled to find

And probably never will.

Unless…


We go back.


Years later,

We dropped to our knees, bawling and screaming in despair

Begging her to forgive us for making her ugly and refusing to share

her own water with Her.

We don’t know if she’ll ever love us again. 


We cannot find Them, the society we’ve Longed for.

and so, we must wait.

Wait for The Longed Ones to find us instead.

Looking for what we once longed for as well

In a time when She was still dancing.


In life, you will encounter

people who say,

“It is just better this way.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“Let’s not live in the past,

forget Her.”

I hope this story

has taught you

Otherwise.


And if we as a people

learn to

resurrect

what once

made

us

human,

then maybe

we could find 

a way

to sew Her beautiful

blue and green dress,

and help Her dance again.


Ah, yes!

She was a beautiful dancer once,

do you remember? 

If you say you don’t miss Her dancing, you are lying. 

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