POEM: Know More Than Sentimental Fuels

I am petroleum
I am coal
I am “natural” gas
Set me free
From my dark and stony hearth
My fiery lying in wait
Sow vent on destruction
And I will bequeath
Once-in-an-eon
That you will blow
In your cracking and fracking
As so much
With to spare
Busy having
The tomb of your
For when civilization collapses
And you are waste deep interred
With my underworld unleashed
Meting yours
I will catacomb your world
Exchanging your place for mine
And what remains of
At best will see me
As know more than a sentimental fuel
Spewing out worthless airs
To the end of the earth

I find myself writing more and more about our , particularly about the crisis of .  This aptly reflects my conviction that dealing with and establishing a with mother is the biggest challenge that faces this century.  I feel confident saying this, even though we are still early in the century.

This poem is written as a first person poem, where carbon-based energy forms, long sequestered safely underground, encourage us to free them from their long-established place in nature.  In this poem, the personification of carbon-based energy takes on a demonic, underworld .  The promise of “once-in-an-eon ” seems an offer more than generous enough to lock us unto our fossil fuelish .  Now, I don’t believe in demons, surely none emanating from ’s bosom.  But who needs when you have greedy and humans who apparently would rather drown in their own waste than pay adequate to their mother.  Humans have, in effect, made themselves a bunch of mothers — and not very good ones. This is original sin; the rest is derivative.  I see no animus in .  Still, nature does have boundaries with predictable feedback.  If keeps have to dealing with all this human shit, then I expect will have enemas.  And even us fans of the earth will get hit with it…

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