I can’t see, but I can feel.

It feels wrong. 

The beach is where I go to heal, not open more wounds.

The sand is supposed to feel warm. Comforting.

But every step I take, comes another sharp, jagged piece of plastic,

plunging into my foot.

The smoke circulating around me finds its way into my eyes,

and contaminates my soul with its filth. 

I can’t see, but I can feel. 

Piles of utter garbage covering the golden sand,

have turned the beach into a wasteland.

Sea animals lay dead on the shore,

strangled in a mixture of plastic soda rings and shopping bags,

reeking of human selfishness.

Of course I’ve finally accepted, my time to help is over.

Remorse. Guilt. Shame.

I want to help, I do.

But the realization my story was ending

came too late. 

Now, all I can do is watch.

Watch the forest fires rage on,

ending the lives of innocent trees.

The smoke infiltrating the lungs 

of a squirrel, taking a nap in the leaves.

Humans are unaware that this is their story, 

unintentionally writing the last chapter of their book.

Earth is our home, yet soon to be abandoned.

The damage irreversible,

but unnoticed by all.

The pen lifts off the paper,

writing the last word of our book,

before it ends.

Regret.