…from where there was never a future
We rape and pillage this once proud Earth
into damnation overload, until the cure to suffering
is contested by limitless excruciation.
The execution of our planet has already been handed down,
a rope, thick like the trunk of a behemoth tree,
strung around the neck of our once wholesome world.
When the execution of the cadaver is later orchestrated,
the exhumed beauty, which had once considered suicide,
will reveal how an attack, over seven billion strong,
struck several violent blows, bringing an end
to substantial happiness. The love which we each shared
for this globe of green and blue, has not beat like a drum
in a time consumed by a longevity greater than any figure
which has come before. But now the alphabet of love
has dried like blood beneath the sun, and as the ground shakes
with the rumbling of rubber and steel,
soldiers flood through our streets, trampling the toys
of children into oblivion towards a fate chosen for them
by men in suits, who shall never do the dying
forced upon the slaves of countries.
Before we are even invited in, we become part
of a war conceived by the hands of others,
and our battle songs are then replaced by stolen symphonies,
sung by broken parliaments corrupted by governmental greed.
On this night, when death walks the Earth,
picking the happiness out from between the teeth
of hapless victims to and fro, I myself
do not wish to see you cry, because you have been waiting
for superman far too long, and he has not returned
after leaving to do the laundry late last night,
and much like all of the other pretenders,
the chance of his coming back rests between negative figures.
If I could hold you to my cheek perhaps we could stop being victims,
to a world that has long forgotten the spirited vengenace
of true love, that guided our hands together once, but sadly no longer.
As the green foliage is swept clean by the ever changing winds,
I will have you know that a future exists beyond our horizon,
leading to a changed existence, and if we may traverse the foothills
which separate us from here and there, a new beginning
may well awake from where there was never one.
Posted on March 13, 2014, in Poetry and tagged alphabet of love, art, death, depression, Earth, environment, feelings, life, love, peace, poem, poetry, politics, relationships, superman, war, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.