Poems About Pollution Novels & Stories

The mountains, lakes, wide open spaces without so many people and machines. Someone let loose a loud honk of his horn, destroying even the façade of peace. I glared at the passing car, felt the anger bubble up inside my chest. Asshole. What was so important that he had to pollute the world with that sound? To thrust upon people the fumes from his car that ate holes in the only world we'd been given? Why were people so fucking selfish? I felt the red haze wiggle at the edges of my mind. Could feel it sliding over my vision. With a single flick of my wrist, I brought star shine into my palms.

“It’s never clean, is it? The money, the motives. It’s always tangled.” I thought of the cupcake, the petition, the handwritten note, the virtual worlds. “No,” I agreed. “It’s not clean. But the herring run is real. The eelgrass is real. The trail we want to build is real.” I looked around at them—my fellow tanglers, my partners in the forever, messy fight. “That’s what we’re for. The real things. However we have to get them.”

Nonetheless, he moved toward it, feeling something rise in his chest. Humans didn't care. Despite the warnings and the systems and the signs put in place, they still polluted, and their carelessness didn’t bother him much on land. They could destroy their cities, suffocate their skies. But his ocean was sacred. And no human filth had any right near it.

Which meant it was perfect. They climbed the last metal ladder in silence, hands on cold rungs, the city’s night air wrapping around them as they emerged. Up here, the sounds were muffled. Traffic. Distant music. A siren somewhere far away that had nothing to do with collars or kill codes. The sky was clearer than it used to be. Pollution controls, Aria said. And fewer factories burning whatever they could get their hands on now that some of the worst contracts had been shut down.

Just look at them. Humans now swarm the globe by the billions, their very existence polluting the Earth they inhabit, rotting it from the inside out. I remember when this planet was a thriving oasis, and the humans who existed among it respected it, nurtured it, and even revered it. Now look at them. They move like uncoordinated ants, crashing into one another while simultaneously trying to avoid each other. It would be comical if it weren’t so pathetic. And then there’s the stench.

The very air hummed with a deep, unsettling silence, broken only by the weak, rattling cough of a child from within one of the hovels, a sound that spoke of a body losing its fight. They dismounted slowly, their boots sinking into mud that seemed unnaturally sticky and dark. "By the gods," Kael whispered, his face pale as he took in the devastation. "What happened here?" Thane's nostrils flared, his heightened senses bombarded by the pollution. He crouched by the stream, but didn't touch it, his body recoiling slightly from the fumes. "The poison," he said, his voice grim. "It's concentrated. It's like the source vomited its entire contents into the water all at once."

As she yelled at me infuriated, my flames consumed and swirled around me as I disappeared from the hell plane. I hadn’t been on the surface in a few hundred years. I couldn’t wait to see the chaos they have created since I was last there. The flames dispersed, revealing glorious chaos. Metal machines ran rampant throughout the streets, people running around like little ants in an anthill, hurrying from one task to another as pollution pumped from their buildings into the sky, slowly destroying the nature that surrounded them. I could sense the corruption among them: killers and thieves. Sinners, the very people whose souls I revelled in tormenting.

It did not fly away into space; it broke apart into billions of tiny, glowing white particles. ​The particles rained down upon the world like a gentle snow. They fell over the Scrapyard, over the black forest, and over the distant mountains. Where the white light touched the ground, the last remnants of the toxic pollution vanished. The rusted iron was stripped of its decay, turning into gleaming, pristine metal. The water in the streams ran crystal clear. It was a final gift from the creators, a parting blessing to cleanse the soil of the prison they had built. ​A cheer erupted from the crowd. It started small, a single shout of disbelief from a Vanguard soldier, and then it swelled into a

The sunglasses could not keep out the harsh glare of the heat bouncing back at the large car from either side of the road as they travelled, silent and grim. It was a bleak landscape, with few plants, cacti, that struggled to grow. A wasteland, thought Aiyana, thinking of a poem by T.S.Eliot, one she had read when she was in University. Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water She murmured the words to herself as the cars sped along, a line of black cars that raised clouds of dust.

Stella lay down beside Jasper and said, "The industrial pollution has become more prevalent. There are many cities which are shrouded in smog and haze. Therefore, by the sea, especially in places that haven't been developed, it is like heaven on earth." Jasper held onto Stella's shoulder and said, "Promise me that even if we are rescued from here, we will never be separated." Stella remained silent. The silence made Jasper panic, and he looked at her. "Okay," she answered. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before getting up and resuming cutting the bamboo. "What are you doing?" she asked as she pushed herself up.