Carbon kills.

With stick thin legs and bellies swollen,

they remembered their playing in grass,

hide and seek around trees and cattle 

beside the flowing watery tracks of 

the recent rain; that washed the earth

and egged on the good, growing grain. 


Rain still falls on someone else’s land,

in a place where fridges are full and 

children are found to be fat, but still

they burn the death ridden fuels to

enable them to career around in cars,

that don’t seem to make them happy.


They frown and furrow their brows as

they eat their fill taking the food from

the mouths through hogging their own

ways. While out in a land somewhere

climate change is killing small children

and the cattle rot on the sandy desert.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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