The Future Foretold

We sit silently by as our birthright is sold. (Form: Roundel) A Traditional Poetry Entry

The Future Foretold


The future foretold in glistening spheres;
nature’s small gems more precious than gold.
Is this a warning predicted by tears,
the future foretold?

Pollution runs rampant, waste uncontrolled,
solutions ignored over the years;
we sit silently by as our birthright is sold.

Heads in the sand, hiding our fears,
watching the death of our planet unfold.
The cries of the earth fall on deaf ears.
The future foretold.

An entry for the January round of "Poetic Traditions Poetry Contest " 
Prompt: None
Form: The Roundel   has eleven lines constructed from two quatrains, and a triplet. The rhyme scheme consists of only two rhymes and a refrain which is made from the first phrase of first line.