Here's a great poem that i would like to share...

Just a short observation and inner speculation...

Standing on the edge, twisted branch breaks way colors, explode beneath gray water a man walks to me and says; "We cannot build here, they say that Mangroves are in our way." what a shame, he's shaking his dark head A cell in me jumps up to agree, for what a joy to erect a cabin, some structure upon this paradise by the sea... I gaze at the coral reef hidden under sunlit waves 'a single touch-a piece dies,' the divers caution yet I recall reaching for it like gold, a Midas touch will destroy even a tiny pink branch of its brittle beauty "Am I a victim of my own grasping?" I ask this stranger, so angry that his own reaching hand has been slapped by the rules, "Like Butterfly wings, I touch without thinking," I tell him. I touch without thinking-and the insect crumbles never belonging to me, yet I continue to swipe these delicate gifts, fancied only as possession's, rather than settling for a satisfied gaze, I'll never tame beauty with touch nor taste How could it be that the whole world does not belong to me? "We don't want the world," the stranger argues, "Only this small piece, a tiny parcel. Is it too much to ask for? A new home by the sea?" "The Mangroves should stay," I say. the man's face churns red, "Oh, one of those," he huffs, his arms unfolding in a circle, as if to hug a tree I watch, realizing I'm one of him, but only in soiled spirit when I used to want everything my own way, though I try to understand this sudden cleansing of my soul I need to walk backward a while, hovering too long on two legs, is a stature certain to be self-absorbing The winds have turned me inside-out I still like improvement-but more naturally Must we fight nature with such aggressive fists, a fighting pose that will certainly turn back on us in the shape of a sword? You know better than I what the sea needs, I whisper alone in the dark The knotted limbs of the old Mangroves are no longer mere shadows to me, they bow politely to sundown, like sleepy shepherds, gently guarding all this ocean against so many two-legged wolves. Copyright by Chrissy K. McVay

Taken from: http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?AuthorID=30288&id=150416

Corals will die if we do not stop the pollution. --- Try your best to save them!
at 10:30 AM

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