We live in the unrelenting trickles
of a blocked-up stream,
dripping and dammed
despite desperate efforts to reopen.
Now soaking in sewage and swarming with flies
the river - once flowing -
now groans.
We live in the unattended embers
of a fading fire,
feebly enduring
despite all attempts to extinguish.
Relinquishing oxygen, fuel, and new tenders,
the fire - once tinder -
now groans.
We live in the dissipating vapors
of a smoking gun,
caught up red-handed
despite all pretended intentions.
Unnaturally crafted as a tool of destruction,
the gun - once stainless -
now groans.
We live in the long-deserted sandscapes
of a land once green,
of a country called Eden
despite all planned obsolescence.
Pandemically sapped of nutritional value,
the land - once growing -
now groans.
All Creation is groaning
hope for brokenness restored.
hope for blessings to the poor.
hope for rebirth coming forth.
hope for better than before.
All Creation is groaning
hope for renewal
hope for more.
All Creation is groaning.
