We bury our children whole.
All the tools and love
In our hands spun out
Of our control, destroyed
What we meant to flourish.
There is no going back
From this pile of rocks
And dirt under which bright
Lives remain, suffocated and lost.
We invented our poisons
And failed to estimate
The caustic profits, unintended
Consequences, wages of pain.
We had no idea, really,
What we were doing,
And pretended.
We could not end it,
Even with all our weight
Behind it, and our hearts
Dragging in the mud.
So here, we bury another child
Who, for all our pain,
Could not endure
This world.