From my Rock poem by Max Smith (11MTG)

From my Rock

I sit upon, a glazed rock,
Staring at a familiar sight,
Yet what now is wrought with blight.
I gaze upon, a dead flock,
Their cries now silent,
As man sits compliant.
I look upon, a plastic forest,
Suffocating and dying,
From the waste occupying.
I watch upon, a field for florists,
But the flowers have wilted,
And nature has been jilted.
I stare upon, a city of soot,
At bleak chimneys fuming,
Their dark clouds consuming.
I stare upon, the bustling rut,
Tuning out the warning signs,
Closing their eyes at what is malign.
But why should they care,
They won’t fix the disrepair,
For why should man pay attention,
For actions which they think don’t affect them.