In a serene blue sky,
Watching the world below;
Playground of hope and promise.
Lakes of abundance,
Sparkling rivers
Of crisp, clear water;
Crystals of life.
Life in all forms
Finding peace and balance.
And the chosen child danced
And played;
Frolicked in this garden of plenty.
The Chosen Child.
He thought himself exceptional,
Entitled;
Seized what he wanted,
Refused to share.
The churlish chosen child,
Self-centred and selfish,
Smothered seagulls in oil-spills,
Strangled the sea with plastic.
Fracking and fighting,
He raped the land
And forced the world into retreat.
He gouged and goaded
The fragile world.
And the clouds watched
And the clouds gathered;
Incited to mass action.
Their churlish child
Was not in charge.
No longer impartial benefactor;
Angry, dark clouds massed together,
Leaving some skies empty, deserted.
Riotous storms tore down houses
And washed away fields of food;
While drought dried the dams,
Leaving only cracked mud
And scorched cities.
The chosen child prayed
And begged for respite;
But is his lesson learnt?
He is part of,
Not apart from,
This wonderful world.
READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD
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