when does infinity become enough?

we are children of the earth
blossoming like bitter fruit,
        strawberry-stained teeth and
        buttercup-licked throats. a
        kaleidoscope of fresh-trimmed
        grass and cloud-brushed skies.

we are children of the earth
settling into the dirt's cool embrace,
        soil pressed to cheek and
        flowers twined around a 
        heartbeat trellis, scattered leaves
        like fall-scratched freckles.

we are children of the earth
who wrack the ground with guilt,
        our sobs like salted waterfalls
        spilling over cliff-edged cheeks, 
        a small sorrow for the islands 
        our tears have swallowed, the
        land we have gulped like it is ours to eat.

we are children of the earth
who coat the world in our ingratitude,
        but soon, when we run out 
        of nature to devour, when
        our throats run dry like cracked riverbeds
        and our stomachs grow empty like
        hollowed fruit, what is left to consume?

just the carcass of a former world,
a skeleton of what we used to be.