Dressed in perfect blue, while framed to a shroud of blackest ink
A perfect sphere, as a dream gliding gentle upon cirumstellar throne
Now her skin raging, raging in fires feasting, mindless consuming all
I gazed upon this capitalist designed sight, my mind blank of word
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, once all yours, now stolen
Nothing left, of the beauty and no lark singing in this shared sky
As my last breath filled with flames, glazed to raging smoked fire
Yesterday, lit by fossil billionaires, in glee to purify skin of human sin
Ash and dust left with death, still silent scream echoed on stone strata
And there crime, forever erased, they once again, breathe deeply
Gone the voices, full of sound and beauty signifying of human accolades
But a cold laugh is heard in space, where billionaires fled, now in wait
Below and still, with all blue consumed, in guise of their gross prophit*
A perfect sphere, they sanctified, gliding gentle upon cirumstellar stone
*Prophit = this is a blend of profit and prophet
https://www.theguardian.com/science/2021/jul/19/billionaires-space-tourism-environment-emissions
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