Alternative future.

• Author: Robertson, Henry
• Position: Poem

The plains are empty for a time of hungry foes who sow their blood. We settle in a fickle clime, one year drought, the next year flood. The prophets warned us not to waste the riches of the sea and soil, but none would hear who had a taste for floating drunk on burning oil. They died like leaves from plague and dearth, or fought for sterile merchandise. For those too weak to learn the earth suicide parties closed their eyes. The corporate men have turned warlords, enslaved the cities' refugees and beaten...