Futuristic Reality

Used to take us to and fro,
Places we need to go.
Different sizes and designs,
To appeal to each and every eye.

Made in factories with high quality parts,
And tested in labs to ensure the safety of beating hearts;
But underneath its outer plastic sheild,
Is a death machiene on wheels.

The fule it uses to make it go,
Is poisonous to us and the planet we call home.
Constantly sending deadly fumes into the air,
Until the sun burns the earth bare.

Drying up oceans, rivers, and ponds;
And setting fire to forests, grass, and crops on farms.
Our inventions seem great, they help the world;
But one day soon, the earth will yeild.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741