An Illustrated poem.

This is a Memorial to the loss of bee kind. their death could mean our death. Their loss will be our loss. The broken panels will carry these words through time.

The Hum of summer silenced, sweet autumns harvest done

How much we hunger and regret. now all that was, is gone

The hollow flower, barren, no fruit, no nut, no seed.

All the fields are empty by mans shortsighted greed.

The loss cannot be salved, the end we made is our own.

Can we undo the damage done? When all the bees are flown.

For the want of vision, the bees are gone. For the want of the bee the flowers and fruit are gone, for the want of the flora the insects are gone, the grazers diminished. For the want of the insects the birds are gone. The predators reduced. for the want of the wide diversity and habitat. the balance is gone. And when the balance is gone, we are lost. We are long lost and yet don’t know it.

The tide has turned, the tsunami nearing

The governments offer us platitudes and blame previous incumbents of power. And a feather duster to turn back the destruction, as long as we vote for them….

You know if 90% of humanity died tomorrow the planet would still be finished. 7 billion rotting corpses would create a methane cloud. The equivalent of a good-sized volcanic eruption. Then the rotting corpses of all the animals that depend on humans as they all starve or die of thirst in their cages and enclosures. All the nuclear power stations and experimental poisons overheating, burning up and pouring their destruction into the atmosphere. All that plastic is still floating around in the river’s seas and oceans. All those nuclear missiles in silos slowly ticking away til they deteriorate enough to leak radiation into the local water tables.

The humans left deteriorated to survivor’s scavengers and fighting to take what they want, think they need. Just as any good post-apocalyptic psychologist. Will depict in any movie of the apocalyptic genre,

It is a deep dark black hole some will look anywhere but into it, denying it exists, and at this very moment we sit on the precipice.