A home that stands without four walls,
Its ceiling blue and white, and black as night,
Its floor, here soft, there hard, which sprawls
Beyond the reaches of my farthest sight,
Its shining lights, from moon and sun,
Illuminate its new and ancient scars.
Our task: to mend what harm we’ve done,
Inflicted on our home beneath the stars.
I've been reading some environmental writing lately, which is probably why this topic has surfaced often in my recent poetry. I think this one's fairly straightforward - focused on preserving this world that we call home.
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