Are living planets so unstable,
driven alone to self-consume
with humanoid infection,
their life and death dilemmas
resolving themselves
in rank oblivion -
or do guilty, anguished souls
wander through barren wastes,
moaning on miasmal winds
for some miraculous return
of sacred, irreplaceable gifts,
Manhandled to extinction,
vainly searching for a way
to nevertheless begin again?

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John Talbot Ross