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Literature Text
A mother wearing green, covered in flowers. She is Mother Nature, forgiving loving, when she needs to be reprimanding. This is not one of those times, she is crying, quiet whimpers of depression can be heard. She is holding a small child in her arms, the child is sick and dying. The child is made from things of the earth. The child is no doubt that of Mother Natures. Sadly the child has become ill do to the way it was used. It is covered in thick oil, and arms of steel, bleeding gasoline blood. Each cough is one of carbon dioxide, the child is what is left of humans.
So far gone that even the child’s mother cannot save it. It is what we have done with the life Mother Nature has given us. All our mother can do is weep over a sick child she is going to lose.
So far gone that even the child’s mother cannot save it. It is what we have done with the life Mother Nature has given us. All our mother can do is weep over a sick child she is going to lose.
A rainy day, a gloomy one, when the clouds part and the sun shines through, lighting up a mountain side. As if the curtain rises on a stage revealing the actors. This is no building with people pretending to be what they are not. This is nature being herself. While humans look on at this breathtaking view. They watch as animals live their lives, as plants grew and bend to get better light. This play is happening in front of us all each day. Many of us watch it and enjoy the moments. As humans we have become such outcasts of nature that all we can do is watch as it go by. We no longer are a part of the earth. Too far gone to be actors once more, we are simply the audience to what we have lost.
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