A Ride through the City of Hell
Cara Young
I spied the trees in the truck,
Condensation
Where they were tucked like
A mere shadow amidst another;
A kangaroo and its darling mother.
The image crept into peripheral sight,
It only graced us in faultless light.
How vast that my surprise did seem;
I found nature in the polluting city.
My eyes follow the truck, tugging along,
The clatter of the bus now lulls to a song.
Voices raced against themselves,
The bus continues through “City of Hell.”
Greasy streets and haunting litter,
The city I call home,
SHAMEFUL!
The homes and homeless alike,
Dying,
Like all else,
Never to return.
I can see the flames
Arise
From the street,
Licking and biting at the feet
Of the people, adding heat.
The people, who add to it in bliss,
So when death comes, they become pissed.
They no not of pending death.
The wet window
chills my face
And as I watch, the truck
Quickens pace.
The kids around me
Stay
In light dream,
When I realize the image
Isn’t quite what it seems.
What I thought to be mere winter trees,
Tangled branches and withered leaves,
They completely changed, confounding me.
The image stayed,
Though in my mind,
Nature was completely
Left Behind.
No more is pending life in the trees,
And never again will there be leaves.
It seems that the city had once again
Destroyed nature; my truest friend.
The tuck races as we split means,
Dead trees fleeing the scene.
Condensation
Slips from the black,
Pollution deciding not to
Give back.
Ignoring the bountiful tears of the earth,
It prohibits the planet to give more birth.
I sadly watch as it pulls from my sight,
And it disappears into the morning light.
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