Climate Change Poem by Maureen

I found God’s canvas outside my train window.
I passed the countryside and saw the beauty that lies within each brush stroke,
the type of miracle that only grows beneath the soil.

Since the beginning,
we’ve had a habit of crossing boundaries against nature’s fruits.
Left to our own devices
we would have probably turned the Garden of Eden into a car park.

So what good is recycled thoughts and prayers if our amens are polluted by our own ignorance?

At this point, we have Mother Nature feeling more martyr than matriarch.
You see,
if Eve was made from Adam’s left rib,
then our lungs lie in the hands of every tree deep rooted into the earth.
Like Genesis 2: 7: it breaths into our nostrils the breath of life.

You see,
what is nature if not an extension of God herself?
A second coming;
another creation suffering at the hands of our greed.
And what is climate change, if not the Book of Revelation made flesh?
Chapter 8 Verse 7: and a third part of the earth was burned, and a third part of the trees was entirely burned up, and all the green plants were burned.

It seems we have not yet realised that we are at war with our own consequences.

Copyright © 2021 Maureen Onwunali
All rights reserved
Reproduced by permission of the author