Earth On A Melting Point Poem by Chima Ononogbu

That night, in a dream,
I found myself on a hill's skull
overlooking a quiet, dimly remembered, hamlet
hemmed by untrod expanse of sprightly vegetation
inhabited by tall unbranching pines
and a thick coppice with eloquent airiness.

Toward its interior,
like a bed overlaid by a fluffy rainbow,
I moved my gaze
where several nests were designer churches,
birds' chirps melodious symphony
rising and falling in feathery cadence,
their aquiline noses pointed
toward a lively turquoise sky.

From the hill's stony scalp
roved my eyes in exchange for plushy air
into my greedy nostrils wafted
with pleasant hurriedness of a suckling chick.

Yet worry seeped into my heart,
everything was changing,
the freshness shed its skin
and wore nastiness of a fetid sort
that swept through as a rumbling desert.

The vegetation roused up by unruly wind,
flinty eye wind,
ruthless as medieval king,
instantly striking up fire, shooting up;
its fury, like heavenly part of the mythical hellfire.

For the town crier's foreboding brushed aside,
now the earth in self destruction.

The wind exhaling its hot fanning content
vexing the musing fire,
the ground cracking, spewing billows of smokes,
thick smokes as tar, as coal, as the darkest night,
trillions they seemed, smoldering the air.

The vegetation rocked by fire,
flying flaming red dreadful as death,
from shore to shore,
like a burning furnace, breaking the bones of woods,
red skin pines splattering flaming daggers.

The sun, never like this frightened,
put in the crucible, burning,
dripping flood of heat comingling
with solid liquid fire swirling,
the ozone, like a balding head, receded,
while hot tears scalded the face of the environment.

Heat spilled over with relentlessness,
driving down the glacial,
and ice sheets sloping down the sea
splintered to bits and pieces,
triggering a rush of uneasy water,

Which rose up, sky high,
turning littorals into sea floors,
breaking the spines of levees;
land became intemperate seas,
submerging the hamlet, the earth.

The natives, mourning their guttered hopes,
nothing was left of their lives,
scurried hither and thither to escape the fiery flood,
shouting and pointing, asking for their future.
my spirit sobbed then weak as a whippersnapper,
their voiceless voice cried out to my wakening.

Now my heart sorrows:
A dream
yet a reality, Amazon in my mind,
hurricanes loading.

The earth hangs on uncertainty,
diggers and miners, oil barrons,
threatening to warm it to a melting point,
but to cool it, for life for continuity,
is our eternity.