By Leeza Coleman
No Return
The human animal has shot
most of the whole to hell
So what’s left needs to be dedicated to the others.
No Return
The sparkle of a drop of pristine ocean,
where untormented life still thrives,
far out in a sewage-laden sea.
No Return
The lingering notes of a Mozart symphony
from a smashed radio
comforting an Earthling who has managed to survive
in a hot war zone.
No Return
Unmolested seals frolicking far from
human-detritus-riddled shores.
No Return
The sunlight sparkle on the ocean
in a place free of
murderous nets, traps, barbs, refuse, plastic, poisons,
where some persons live in the absence of the human invader.
No Return
The last of the proud free birds
not cruelly netted for profit
or dead in a plundered forest
that left them homeless, without sustenance,
mourning their families and neighbors.
No Return
The cavorting of joyful dolphins
far from the oil-pocked killing grounds.
No Return
The newly hatched and newborn infants
with their parents,
finding nourishment
in a crack-vial-studded park.
No Return
The flash of a shiny fur coat
worn by the original owner,
the besieged survivor
of a decimated, mercilessly tortured species.
CODA
Sing a song of sixpence,
and denial and a lie;
willing to have others killed,
but not to watch them die.
Observe in the horror
and the violence of war
the same violence we wreak
on the slaughterhouse floor.
Sing a song of sixpence:
violence speaks with one voice;
non-violence another.
There isn’t any third choice.
Choosing our ethical path
leaves us an obligation:
to know each of our actions
has loud reverberation.
Sing a song of sixpence
at the point of no return
much too late it would appear
For “sapiens” to learn.
We’ve disdained Mother Nature,
her stipulations ignored.
For self-gratification
our morality we’ve whored.
The Humane Herald 