Force Of Nature Poem by R B Seals

Cold...efficient...disquieting...
Humanity's brutal misdeeds
lay hidden, obscured under
rolling, grassy landscapes
that give cover to your wasting,
brittled, broken bones. Long
covered by rotting, soil-infused
flesh, your substance is rendered
transformed, hiding covertly our
cruel, sadistic, insensitive nature.

Still, you call out to us—
the remnants of your plight
amassed in communal graves.
Detached...current generations
bothered little by the miseries
that weigh upon your souls; the
scattered, mottled, fading scars
your legacy left for us to ponder;
a once prominent plight, once
the stuff of world attention
reduced to slight significance
by the mores and precedence
that presides over us.

The means to promote and
insure your demise, remind us
of the true nature of our being—
and we have done so well! As
sentient beings, survival begets
the excuse to support our actions:
determined, strident, calculating,
controlling—blessed by a creator
seen distant, seeming detached
and indifferent.

Divinely controlled, or acting in
response to some primal program of
manifest function, we cannot help
ourselves, or feel regret or pity for
all who have fallen to our righteous
rage: actions becoming the necessary
ingredient for the continuing parade
of carnage that defines our dubious
and disturbing legacy; and perhaps
for reasons not yet understood, the
pained philosophy behind the nature
and intent—ours and the Creator's.