Going Under by David Golledge

(2 ratings)
Rate this Poem (5 best)


This carbon based dishonesty,
lip service paid to sense.
The usual fucking lies,
the truth an inconvenience.

Nine billion lives mid century
to cry, to shout, to feed.
Third world designed to satisfy
our exponential greed.

Neo-liberals, market forces,
commodities now lives.
A butcher’s hook to hang them all
and open them with knives.

Burn their food for petrol,
poison their water supplies.
Sulphurous clouds, acidic,
the tears that leave their eyes.

We leave behind humanity
and march toward the mole.
No forests left to help us breathe
no life, no earthly soul.

This arid desolate wasteland
the wind the only sound.
Equality for all at last,
our new home underground.