And in that first wailing cry my ashes were ordained:

As the ocean acknowledges its horizon,

knows infinity's finite edge

so my cry knew a destiny

knew my play and my learning

my work, my leisure, my sleep

the evil of my hands and the goodness of my heart

my loves, my hates, my pleasures.

Knew my world: that tiny flesh held all my futures

and in those fragile bones resided

my children and my children's children

 

And in that first wailing cry my ashes were ordained:

In my span the world would spin beneath uncaring feet.

Or ignorant. No! Uncaring! Knowing that every step,

every action provoked its own invisible fallout -

still, we would not see. Too late we cry how

could we have known? As nations flourish we know. Ice

melts, seas rise. Every action pushes, every action throws

humanity to the charnel heap, throws our future

to the fire, throws our future

to the sea's maw.  

Every word I write is an epitaph.

Yet I believe there is hope - for the planet will survive

without us; will survive

my children and my children's children

 

And in that first wailing cry my ashes were ordained:

Now, as my flame burns low I weeping write

lines no man will ever heed.

I write of hopes and dreams that might have been,

I write of possibilities lost to time,

I write of destiny ordained not by fate but by our actions,

I write of mankind careless in his might,

I write of loss.

I know that our new Eden can offer only dearth

and in these whited bones I find only pity for

my children and my children's children