What happens when the drinking water plasticises?

Due to a wantonness of many years of practice

And what might be this dumping mounting in the sea?

Isn’t it sin?

I don’t mean in a figurative way

I don’t mean an end product of

Nor effectual manifestation of our sin – but, God, I mean

Just plain sin

That which has found us out, and which may well

Present us with our wages

As due The Rock of Ages

Even this word we use, this ‘mine’ becomes a revelation

Accident maybe, though a nice coincidence

We have dug, and are digging out, the riches of the earth

As if no worth

Prefers a mooted future for a later generation

(Forget regeneration.)

Locked by ourselves we war in a plastic battle, where every nation

Presumes engaging each one with the other

Brother against brother, attaints another

Assumes to say no other way, no work-around

But ‘mining’ whatever can be got assuredly

To fill one’s bounds

Great grasping hands

Arching enclasp the goods, great galimaupheries

Of nowhere enough

To cool our agent urgent vacancy

And gushing the other end of mighty ‘mining me’s’

Like emblematic rush, an emetic orgy

Into a psychic no-man’s land, and lavatory

Excretes our refuse

Landscapes, full desert wastes of infidelity

Matching The Steppes in hectares spread-out, mired and marred

On sea, on land, and also murkly going underground

As all our vagrancy

This then is sin, is palpable, is so

Sin is at work and breaking even with a feckless world

Led by The Hand of God whose name is one not mocked

His Scripture lesson

As Jonah to Ninevah was sent and went reluctant

These are the signs are given to us to turn around

Sin has its traction to impress us, to address the issue

Sin can sort us found

Strays in a byway travelled as if a highway

Out of the way but thinking we’re at rest, at home

Too much believing a lucky ‘Huh, I did it my way’

Who should presume?

Plastics particularising in the drinking water

If nothing is done to stop it, this will happen

Quickly shall shrink-wrap, nylon gut, go out of fashion

When it’s your daughter

Absorbing posions at the standpipe faucet

Arrived of a rash presumptious liberty

Supposing that freedom where to go and what to do

Answers to no-one – all that stuff, pooh-pooh!

‘No-one’? Indeed He sees, He moves to educate

King crows who divorced themselves of aptitude

A people who outgrew truth with which to modulate

Themselves to nature

This is ‘No-one’s’ province, ‘No-one’s’ guide

Unbidden, overridden, undermined,

So sure, we were sure ourselves the better judges

Inched along by nudges

A way to a plastic worldwide party play-station

Into a failing world; apostrophising nations

By our own hands are self-diminished, near destroyed,

Better before, since when our playthings are become our toys

Like a small miracle some generations lightly blossomed

Rode on the back of sciences and politic reforms

Rolled back the evil bogeys intersecting human bones

Two, three generations, seemed a paradigm

But a shift was not to be, before the elements rolled back

Searching their way as natural to return

Bearing their mortal backlogs, backlash, as the come

A roaring wave

Brains of defiance barred, held back; and gloried in it

That their men, mostly men, might overtake control,

Subsume and so humble Mother Nature to their persons

They broke the rules

No less did Agamemnon walk the outrolled purple

Suffering a step too far to make his homecoming

No envious god like his defends against our vanities

We have one who has seen temptation every way,

Yet did not sin.

Let us begin again then, so recall to mind

Our lot is a need for guidance, here we cannot find

What is our own best-interest, we are seeking sorry selves

The history tells

Our living rescue dwells

In making a good acceptance of this incomplete estate

Made-up to be made-fully when with faithful God we make

Our great surrender