Mother

Words for our suffering spaceship

Our precious Mother is much more than your w***e.

Force her legs open, you’ll attempt no more.

 

You villains and vandals and cretins alike.

Into her soul you’ve driven your spike.

 

You plunder and pillage and take without care.

You lay waste to her body, now she’s barely there.

 

Your tables and chairs and houses treen

Have thrashed and mangled; left her unclean.

 

Plastics, papers, and metals you burn

Without one thought of the wasteland you’ll earn.

 

You murder and steal, without once asking.

In blood-stained, filthy glory you’re basking.

 

Her scars reflect your encounters past

Now she’s withering, losing her glow so fast.

 

What will you do when you’ve used her to bits?

Will you go find another as opportunity permits?

 

Thou shalt not kill; that’s what you always said

But here she lay beneath you, so nearly dead.

 

Your conscience is sick, diseased and broken

Your heart is deceased, not able to be woken.

 

She has but one life, though long indeed

It’s only one life, being shortened by greed.

 

Our Mother is dying, but still, you take more.

When does it end? All this violence and gore?