Sylvia Stults

When you receive a keepsake
From someone close to heart
You keep it preserved for the next in line
To be cherished by those as you part

But what does it say, of this gift of yours
If misused and torn asunder
Like ravaged lands, polluted lakes
Or wildlife too few in number

How can one possibly understand
This gift you threw away
A water source for those who thirst
A means to keep hunger at bay

Of all the knowledge one can obtain
From watching our wildlife grow
All of this will be striped away
From those you wish to bestow

So, if you wish to leave a gift
For all future generations
Give them the seas, the birds and trees
And all of earth's creations

Help me design my garden of life
Full of iris, crocus, and lily
With daffodils that shine so bright
Like the sun of the greater deities.

Make me a path that curves around trees
Of stepping stone, wood chip, and moss
Varying in array of colors
Causing one's mind to venture in thought.

Make me a garden so rich in hue
That the sun will fight not to set,
Where merely viewing its beauty
All differences one will forget.

Make me a garden like people of the world,
All different in culture and view,
Contributing to the person I am
Without your prejudicial few.

A garden of only one color, it seems
Would be dull and so very alone.
I want my garden of life to be filled
With every color known.

Standing on the ocean shore
Waves rushing through my toes
Images run across my mind
From the days of long ago

A time when ships were massive
Cutting paths from port to port
Meeting people of different origins
Happy tidings to report

Yet in each and every country
And unbeknownst to them
A plague would soon pay visit
For lack of sanitation

Garbage soon drew rodents
With fleas that carried disease
Thousands started dying
Black Death had breached the seas

Fear then consumed me
In my environment did I see
A replay conjured from the past
A beach of scattered debris

Haven't we learned our lesson
And with this I must implore
Please open up your eyes and see
It's a shadow from before

Waves crashing high
Against the ship's hull
The wind blows, a nouveau
Realization seeps in.

No longer do the seagulls cry
Above the ocean blue.
Catching sight of fish in flight
A repast no longer.

The random splash from life below
Created an exuberant sound.
All's now muted, convoluted.
Oh, memories of what once was.

My heart shifts with the wind,
Skimming the waves of our legacy,
Getting battered by the daggers,
Having always cut two ways.

Our marine life was all we had.
Was this our means to an end?
The repercussion, chain of destruction,
It's all setting in.

No longer do the seagulls cry.
No longer do they cry.