I traced her chapped skin,

now blistered and bruised.

Waiting to be loved again,

for someone to peel back that withered layer.

Waiting for someone to look,

beneath the refuse and rust.

Like a prized fowl fit to roast,

stripped of her riches

and tied in economic despair,

but through unheeded calls

she is plucked and trussed.

The scars of planned failures

scratched deep into her flesh.

She is tired.

A once youthful Eden, now a graveyard.

No truer definition of a Boom and Bust.

Yet as another year passes,

and more of her structures falter,

we, her children, are being left without.

Ignoring her calls.

Blind to every flood and deadly gust.

Blind to what she really needs.

Clinging to a time long since passed.

Too consumed in self-pity to know,

that those who promised aid, never come,

are not benevolent and just.

She is lost, in part by a familiar hand.

More involved in her death, than we would like to admit.

Her memory washed away, right from beneath us.

Everything we had turned to dust.