A quiet bake off –
shades of amber
under scorching sun,
are strewn in the dirt
as the skies relent,
a tumult of steel drills
dive into parched clay,
exploding ant relays
are left for dead
whilst treading water.
Raindrops reach for the red dust,
butterflies frantically tango –
jazzing the mid air –
taking hits like bullets
on this fresh, new day.
Changes come with new rain,
warm blood runs in rivulets
merging with the ruddy soil
where no change brings real bullets
driven by merciless, greedy hoards,
hitting sentient, voiceless creatures –
leaving them for dead.
Stealthily, their souls are stolen –
trophies and trinkets are carved
into fractal nightmares.
Thieves in the night
make days on soft, Serengeti plains
the longest nights of their lives.
We are the change that overshadow
fresh rains, driven by greed and guns –
with not enough room to move –
not enough money to lust after,
we need more, and more –
so we make their blood run –
we make it run until
carmine shades, under scorching sun,
are strewn in the dirt,
These long, long nights
are never ending, and will be the end
of their world… today.