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| Defiance (Black Idol), 1900-1903 FrantiĊĦek Kupka |
Where do we go from here?
We have landed in an unkempt paradise . . .
perhaps it's karma that keeps us so lost . . .
remember when we daydreamed on the hammock
under the canopy of trees . . .
and yet they gracefully moved their branches,
leafs fluttered away
like migrant birds . . .
so we could see the stars at night
and we . . . so naively . .
making wishes on the lights that flew
across the ebony flanks of the sky god?
Remember the idols we made of mud . .
that dripped from our hands as we plastered
our gods with the soil of our desires . . .
they are buried like our dreams
in the caverns of our souls. .
left to melt beneath an incessant dripping
of hollow water . . . mingling with the blood
that runs through our hearts .. . .
and we
we are lost in our wilderness . . . wandering
wandering . .. wanting to hold
once more . . . what we have loved . . .
I see so many of the children of my time
drifting, with glazed eyes . .. their claws reaching
for each glossy fruit dangling from the vines . . .
they are mesmerized by their reflections
in the shine, believing that these are signs
of value and worthiness . . . perhaps eternal grace . . .
I see these children raveled and twined in thorny green . . .
biting into rotten cores of shallow fruits,
their lips trembling with
a desire never satiated . .
I am now, merely a faded fossil . . .
slowly sinking into a passionless embrace . . .
where flesh meets earth . . becoming one . ..
a lonely nothing . .. who screams with a voice
so silenced . . . a warning never heard . . .
behold the poison of our time . . .
beware the will of self-destruction . ..
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| Sun rising behind fog, trees and wires - Portland May 2011 |
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