LIFE Poem: No Stars, Just Pointed Fingers, by Maria Cina

Once a goddess.
Now, she slowly gasps for breath as she chokes.
Chokes on our smoke.
Flaring Lungs, Forests Burned.
Plastic Face, Plastic Sea’s.
Dazed memory, Pollution.

The bacteria spread their infection,
Through her veins. She dies slowly.
Even though she rains and floods them,
They mutate and attack.
Yet they claim they are children of the holy.

There used to be stars.
Now, there are pointed fingers.
The same fingers that dictate and declare war.
Wars that destroy the homes of children.
Once sitting there with the toys,
Now, hit by the noise.
Beirut. Baku. Budapest.

“Is there life on Mars?”
Bowie asked it like a prayer.
We made it a plan.
As if we deserve another world to ruin.

We rid the sky of stars,
Similarly to the over-priced products
We pay for to rid the pimples on our face.

She was a goddess once,
Green limbed and river voiced,
Hips like the hills, lungs of the forest,
Heartbeat in the tide.

Now she coughs in silence.
Oil pools where blood should be.
Plastic chokes her throat.

Beaten down,
Abused and assaulted.
Similarly to us down here, but we are cared for.
She’s all alone.

The moon turns away.
The oceans climb the stairs.
Even the worms seem tired.

No stars.
Just fingers.
And none of them
lift the sky back up.