IN THIS AGE

In this age,

where no one listens
anymore
to the birds
up in the trees. . .

where no one even lets the choir
who sing hearts full into their song
and patiently receive the preach,
to humbly bend out of the light
and pray a minute
on their knees.

where no one looks up from their screen
to interact
with streets that, busy, intersect,
or rippling ponds that pretty faces bright reflect,
or right here, present friendly friends
who love them
and upon them smile,
with tales and jokes to interject.

The world is now indifferent and mean,
to any solid thing so close to us,
it can in fact, with no device
but our own eyes
be seen. . .

The wi-fi
pulls us in a swirl
that spirals so darn fast,
our grounding and our sense in space
is slow but sure eroding–
that is,
at any moment
when it isn’t
flash exploding.

Therefore,
the very best that we can hope
is we remember
which way to reach out
with our hands
so they be joined
to cease these trends
through which our Earth,
our birthright
and our stewardship,
by our choices and technologies,
gets, piece by piece, purloined.

So, it’s high time
we looked ahead,
and used wise tools from our old past,
from which a fresh, creative claim
on our old home
can well be coined,
with art and craft,

to build a world of human scope
in which all plants and animals
belong with us in one big boat,

where we can learn,
each one from the other,
to co-exist,
and work in concert
to build a better vital path,

which rates a good deal less, perhaps,
on the scale of instant gratify,
but really, ever so much more
on that certain kind of satisfy
that, because of its design,
is truly very much more apt
a good long time
to last.

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This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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