By Roger Chao

Plastic Apocalypse

Where the tide leaves in sorrow,

where the oceans weep

beneath the sky’s wide and endless dome,

Lies a silent affliction,

a slow creeping bane

that shrouds the earth

in synthetic foam.

It slithers through rivers,

it clings to the trees,

a cursed creation

of humanity’s lore,

An eternal ghost

of our desires,

a fragment of dreams

now festering

on every shore.

Borne on the breath

of a ravenous world,

where consumption reigns

with a ceaseless hand,

Plastic, the spectre,

arises unseen,

entwining our fate

in a synthetic strand.

Its birth was a promise

of convenience and ease,

a future where life

could be cased in a shell,

Yet this fragile veneer,

so deceptively bright,

became the harbinger

of a living hell.

In the depths of the sea

where the corals once bloomed,

now lies a desert

of toxic remains,

The fish swim through fields

of translucent death,

their bellies distended

with poisonous grains.

The albatross soars

over islands of waste,

where its kin fall prey

to a cruel disguise,

Their nests

are of bottles,

their food but shards,

and with each new generation,

the hope dies.

The forests that once breathed

the earth’s sweet breath

are choked by a lattice

of threads unseen,

The trees wear garlands

of plastic decay,

their roots entwined

with the human machine.

Even the winds,

once pure and free,

now carry the burden

of man’s decree,

For every breeze

that kisses the land

leaves behind

a residue of misery.

In the urban sprawl

where the streets are alive

with the hum of progress

and ceaseless pace,

We wonder through the gloom

of our own design,

blind to the slow suffocation

we embrace.

Our markets are brimming

with treasures galore,

each trinket encased

in a polymer shell,

But the true cost

is hidden beneath the sheen,

a price we pay

as we march toward hell.

For every bag

that is tossed aside,

every straw

that is carelessly thrown,

Adds to the mountain

of waste we create,

a monument

to the seeds we’ve sown.

And though the earth

cries out in pain,

her tears lost

in the slothful deed,

We continue to carve

our path of despair,

indifferent

to the warnings

we fail to heed.

In the dark of night,

when the world is still,

the ghosts of our folly

murmur their tales,

Of creatures that lived

in harmony

with the earth,

before the advent

of plastic’s veils.

But now those voices

are drowned

in reactor vessels,

and the clamour

of endless desire,

And the world

we once knew,

the world that was green,

is consumed

in a microplastic pyre.

Yet there is still time,

though the clock ticks away,

to turn back the tide

of our self-made fate,

To reclaim the world

that we’ve lost to decay,

and restore it

to a brighter state.

But it will take more

than a passing whim,

more than a token

of fleeting care,

It will take a revolution

of the heart,

a new way of being,

a collective prayer.

For the plastic apocalypse

is not a storm

to wait out

and watch,

It is a slow

and suffocating plague

that brings the world

to its knees.

But within us lies the power

to change,

to break free

from the bonded monomer curse,

To heal the earth

and ourselves,

to find a new path,

and to live in a world

where care comes first.

So let us rise,

let us stand as one,

and cast off

the yoke of our plastic sin,

Let us breathe new life

into the earth,

and let the healing

of the world begin.

In the end, when the plastic is gone,

and the earth is green

and whole once more,

We will look back

on this time of change

and know

that we played a role in the cure.

For we will have saved

ourselves from the brink,

and given the world

a new lease on life,

And in doing so,

we will have found

our redemption,

and ended

the reign of plastic’s strife.