Preach

I speak for them.
I speak for the prophets whose voices have grown raspy and hoarse
From shouting truth at people
Who cannot hear them.

I speak to them.
I speak to a people who have been deafened by the pounding drumbeats of “progress”
And the roaring sirens of consumerism
So they cannot hear the truth.

I ask the questions.
I ask the questions of generations to come, who will see a world different from ours,
But a world shaped by our decisions
When we did not think of them.

I voice the ponderings.
I voice the ponderings of philosophers who wonder what our thoughtless actions will do
And write treatises of warning
That will be read too late.

I seek the answers.
I seek the answers that will bring quiet to the sirens of this generation
And replace them with words of truth
Before it’s too late.

I grow weary.
I grow weary of the noise that brings no solutions
And my voice grows raspy and hoarse
Who will speak for me?