Clarion Call

A lonely birdsong
in the pre-dawn ghostly hours,
the strained, drained plea
of Mother Earth,
withered and writhing,
breathing apart
“Whither are we bound? “
The question glares at us
in our insomniac stupor.
We the somnambulists,
wandering towards a mirage,
hear it, clear and distinct,
but will we heed?
And that too, when there’s time still?
Or will this be our eternal regret?
That we erased all songs
from the heart of earth
to record our emptiness.

Linking with Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt