by Nick Gisburne
How strange. How insignificant. How small.
A swirl of sand, a drift of dirt, or dust.
I wonder, will you comprehend at all
The moment when I kill you, as I must?
You have no right, no tenure to this place,
No claim upon the planet you infect.
Be thankful, as you look upon my face,
For every precious wonder I protect.
The glories of the industry you built
Are nothing. Watch me wipe them all away.
Without the stain, the stink, of doubt or guilt,
I bring you black oblivion, today.
Your gods are gone. They cannot help you here.
Forsaken, feel your future disappear.
