There were no words needed to understand
abrasive picture articulating death was at hand.
A boom from bagpipes bellowing a battle cry
the blues of belching poisons is why the fish die.
The bluster shall Mother Nature beg for mercy
while the slime sticks why shall we not curse thee.
I stood along the banks of this puddle of muck
clashed with the notion it was a stroke of bad luck.
Clamor’s discord for consensus falls on deaf ears
still aloof here’s the proof a fool calls it crying wolf.
Strike when the iron’s hot it’s the school of thought
or wait for the drum roll before the environment folds.