Do not react with dismay at the sickness of the rodent,
For their place of rest is destroyed by our natural human erodent.
And why weep at their weeping eyes and leaking bladder,
For it's our poison that helps to feed their disease in a colour to grey landscape that becomes much sadder.
They may make us sick because they happened to be,
But why should their death in the hands of you and me?
They just live where they've always lived except now we have taken claim,
Under rubble, bin lids, cig butts and rotten fast food it never was the same.
They relay on us to help them through trouble, do we not find that odd?
Why do we suddenly put our place into the place of God?
And why do we decide on what is right or what is wrong?
Why do we dictate on what is and what isn't allowed to plod along?
Of course we need order and of course we need space,
But where is the order of spirituality for which we don't come face to face.
So from all and nothing the creatures speedily scuttle and scutter,
Into some drainage, some dirty history filled gutter.
Thus I see the rodents chest breathing faster and faster,
And all I can think about our humanoid disaster.
~ By me (Bella Cundall-Holmes)
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PoetryThis is a collection of my poetry. It varies from styles, but it is what I have worked on for years. To me, poetry is a truly special thing, It is to me at least. It is a way to express the the great or sadness in your own life or within the life of...
