The Balance Comes Due

They taught us every forest has a price upon its head,

That progress means consumption and success means getting fed.

But you cannot eat a dollar when the final field is dead,

And no market resurrection brings the oceans from the red.

We built temples out of concrete, put the prophets on payroll,

Sold the sunlight by the watt and put a mortgage on the soul.

Turned the rivers into poison, turned the mountains into holes,

Then applauded rising profits while the planet paid the toll.

Every product needs a buyer, every quarter must expand,

Every empire calls it freedom while it bleeds another land.

They say growth can last forever, but they do not understand:

You cannot demand infinity from one exhausted strand.

We confuse accumulated wealth with being civilized,

While the smoke above the skyline puts a sunset in disguise.

We got billionaires in bunkers selling fear to stay alive,

While the workers feed the system that is eating them inside.

This is bigger than recycling or the *** you choose to buy.

It’s an engine built for hunger that consumes or it will die.

When survival needs destruction just to keep the stocks supplied,

That’s not economics, ***. That is suicide.

When the balance comes due, what the *** will money do?

Can it clean a poisoned ocean? Can it make the forests new?

You can hide behind your borders, but the fire is coming through.

Mother Earth remembers everything we thought she never knew.

When the balance comes due, there is nowhere left to run.

You can’t purchase back the rainfall, you can’t privatize the sun.

We were warned about the ending while pretending we had won.

Now the age of taking everything is finally *** done.

They convinced us we were separate, like the soil was not our skin,

Like the water wasn’t sacred, like the air was not within.

Like the Earth was just a warehouse we could empty for a win,

But the war against the planet is a war we cannot win.

Ancient people read the seasons; modern markets read the charts.

One respected living systems, one reduced the world to parts.

Now the algorithm measures what a dying species costs,

But it cannot count the meaning of the future we have lost.

We got food thrown in the landfill while the children starve nearby,

Empty homes beside the homeless underneath a freezing sky.

It’s not scarcity that kills us. It’s the rules by which we divide.

There is more than enough for living, just not endless *** pride.

They’ll defend the sacred market while the coastline disappears,

Sell disaster as a product, turn catastrophe to shares.

If the system needs the suffering of the many every year,

Then the system isn’t broken. It is working as designed here.

I gave you roots. You wanted towers.

I gave you seeds. You poisoned flowers.

I gave you time. You counted hours,

Then sold tomorrow chasing power.

You drew your borders on my body.

Named theft “wealth” and murder “progress.”

But every kingdom you erected

Will become my soil regardless.

I am not your silent mother.

I am thunder. I am flood.

I’m the memory in the mountain.

I’m the warning in your blood.

You may own the deed on paper.

You may claim the air and sea.

But when your final market closes,

You will all belong to me.

This ain’t asking for the Stone Age. This is asking us to grow,

To create a lasting system where tomorrow gets a vote.

Where the measure of a nation isn’t how much *** it owns,

But whether every living being has a healthy place called home.

Build an economy that serves us, not a god we have to feed,

Where the goal is human wellness, not manufactured need.

Where we take what can replenish, where we share what all receive,

And no child inherits ashes for another’s *** greed.

We can redesign the future, but denial has a cost.

Every year we keep pretending is another future lost.

There’s a point of no returning, and the line is being crossed.

Either change the way we’re living or become what progress costs.

This is not about perfection. This is choosing to begin.

It’s remembering we’re nature, not invaders looking in.

There can still be resurrection if responsibility wins,

But we cannot heal the planet with the logic that condemned it.

When the balance comes due, what the *** will money do?

Can it resurrect a species? Can it make the rainfall true?

There is no escape to Mars for all the billions you used.

You can’t build another Earth after this one is abused.

When the balance comes due, let the old illusion fall.

There is no healthy economy if the ecosystem crawls.

Either life becomes the purpose, or our purpose ends us all.

Mother Earth will keep on turning…

She just might not keep us on.

We called the taking “freedom.”

We called the sickness “growth.”

We sacrificed the future

To preserve a dying oath.

The planet never owed us.

The debt was always ours.

And balance will be settled

Long after we are gone.