Elegy for a Dying World

The last tree stands sentinel
Over fields of plastic flowers,
Its branches black against
A sky the color of profit —
Chemical sunset bleeding gold.

Rivers run thick with memory
Of what water used to be,
While corporate logos float
Like oil slicks on the surface
Of our commodified tears.

In boardrooms high above,
Faceless figures count
The cost of extinction,
Trading future’s breath
For quarterly gains.

Watch the dead zones spread
Like cancer through oceans,
While somewhere, a child
Asks why the birds don’t sing
In this concrete spring.

We catalog our losses:
Species vanishing faster
Than quarterly reports,
Glaciers melting into
Balance sheets of doom,
Forests transformed to
Spreadsheet statistics.

The earth keeps score
In rising tides,
In burning skies,
In soil too sick to weep —
While we chase digital dreams
Through plastic paradise.