In A Silver Valley

January 21, 2009
In a silver valley,
Under purple skies,
Where stars hang in the air,
Like immobile fireflies,
An umber stag bows his head
To taste the dewy grass
And draws back with much displeasure,
For the weed has turned to gas.
Woozy and befuddled,
He squints through all the brume
To find the vegetation
Has all but been consumed.
Mist clouds his beady eyes
As he stumbles all around
And with a draw of toxic air,
The stag crumbles to the ground.
But in this silver valley,
Where the skies cloud with debris,
Where stars refuse to twinkle
For their corrosive enemy,
All life has yet to perish
‘Cause through the haze emerge
Several erect figures,
Each inarguably a scourge.
They jab the stag’s thick carcass,
Seemingly impassive;
Thoughtless of the devastation
They’ve caused, however massive.
And then these men construct,
For their insatiable greed,
Strip malls, highways, theatres,
Forcing nature to concede.
In a once silver valley,
Victim of pitch and plunder,
A stag's head hangs upon a wall
To watch his world be torn asunder.

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