Will we turn colorblind and watch the world fall off the face of the earth?
There’s nothing bright to see after you enter the mouth of a whale.
No flowers to see if they’re as grey as everyone’s souls
as they wander around unattached, as detached as ghosts are from lives.
The end of the after came as soon as it began this time.
And all there’s left to do is hope we’re taking the trip backwards.
All roads lead to Rome, they say. But we don’t want to go there, not
even though the way there too was as clear as the sky hasn’t been in ages.
Some people like long trips, I guess, and the same people love Italy.
And these are who the rest of us don’t follow.
We stand our own ground, softly, so she doesn’t hurt on our watch.
Cause if the ground could speak, she would scream. And here, she would cry.
We’re already colorblind and grey. We turn a deaf ear to her and that’s worse.
The sky is frozen ‘till it’s not. She keeps the hardened pain inside of clouds.
Turns her cold until she cracks. She can’t take care for now, but wait.
All is silent before a storm. And this is before the flood. All is already harmed.
For Laura Sloth Andersen, poetic worlds are a safe haven when not being able to help the planet more becomes too much. She has had her poem 'Only Colors Left to Breathe' published in the online literary magazine, Moondottír Magazine, and is a poetry editor at Persephone's Daughters, as well as at the online literary journal, Transcending Shadows, where she's also a poetry reader.