Song of the Times
We steam clean our rage until what was once human becomes tepid
We are not the only ones who are frail
Yet we proceed as if none matter more
Cataclysms hail towards the times
We have created for ourselves.
I’ll meet you in the fire.
I’ll dive into the flood.
I’ll dig you space in the avalanche.
I’ll save your pint of this blood.
– – –
Villages where walls crumble and nature reclaims her place supreme
We made a mess and refuse to wipe it clean
But what remains remains to be seen
Though not the same as before
We are seeing the power of the invisible
Drawn to the ancients
Pushed from the present
Saved from the past
Disregarding the torment.
– – –
We beat the drum.
We holler at the wind.
We fight the rising tide.
What else can we do?
Check the deep for survivors
Waiting for their absence to matter
I’ll sing to you if you’ll sing to me the song of ideals
A lullaby to lull us to sleep, perchance to dream the dream of
The future, an opalescent mist on the horizon of hope.
All this apocalypse stuff is just as much in our heads as it is in the newscasts. That’s why I wish we’d stop obsessing about what could/is happen and start obsessing about coming together to change it.
I love your poem, it tells us about what we’re doing wrong. 🙂
I love the last stanza in particular. Your word choices are wonderful – “We holler at the wind” is so stark and so futile.
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