Unprecedented

The great park warns,
warning of what would happen,
with flood of emotion.
the dying poor ones, exposed to the heat,
the high heat of the exhales of the earth.

We shudder, hope that 
the stealth behemoth is just the overdone fantasy,
until earth shakes us again in our lazy tea hour;

how many warns do we need to wake us;
how often do we must hear from the dead souls.

we look to the hazy horizon, trying to figure out,
resent the clouds of smoke from the smokestacks
that would add more villains; fear
as we crawl out of 
the dim room into the red sun
that reminds us.

©Byung A. Fallgren