Mother Earth sleeps in,
under a blanket of concrete,
a patchwork quilt of streets
and malls, dead stone things.

They lured her into unconsciousness
with their sacrosanct urban sprawl,
stealthily, they crept upon her,
breaking ground as they went,
raising up babbling towers,
sky-high apartment complexes,
to bring down the blessing of God
upon their American dream.

She is trapped in nightmares,
her body raped, her children dying,
the hard, metal tools of man
scraping furrows into her breast.
Like a virus, they attack her,
leave her weak and docile.

In the dread cold of winter,
I call out to her, but she doesn't
wake up, refuses to acknowledge me.
I am the Enemy. She doesn't
want to see what I have done.

02/27/2004

Author's Note: Another writing.com slam poem. The topic is sleeping in. I could have just written a poem about people sleeping, but that didn't really give me any ideas and this did.

Posted on 02/27/2004
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