My dear fish I am stranded
Aground on blazing sands of gold I gasp
For air though toxics poison me slowly
I can feel them creep within my filaments
Clog my gills turning me blue I wonder
Whether I will ever make it back to you.
Return to crystal deep waters
Sway my fins in plasticless oceans
Undaunted by black-blooded roaring vessels
Remember when they were silent?
How we swam alongside them wishing
To catch a glimpse of those eccentric bipeds
Drinking and singing their way through
We thought they were fascinating creatures
Little did we know, the powers they possessed
The intentions the produce of their reckless ambitions
And now my dear fish that I am covered in petrol
I truly ignore, whether I will ever make it back to you.
[Featured painting: Walking the Fish by Christian Schloe]