We have things now,
gadgets, stuff,
waxy plastic paper cups,
and wonderful machines,

for which, once,
there was no knowing or know-how
to fit them in our hand or cuff–
or rashly make or think them up–
not even in our blackest nightmares
nor our dumbest dreams.

But we must bow
to the fact
we still are made of dust
when our swanky props
decide to stop,
or misbehave, or just give up–

we cry, we curse,
and even worse,
trade them in
for books and paper reams,
and wooden toys,
and outdoor play
and quiet mending
of our stressed-out seams.

And God forbid,
we remember how
to think a bit,
then guide our mind
to empty it,

and then,
a message comes to us:

Both then or now,
though each time has
its minus and its plus,

life is likely way much better
than to our
first and casual glance it seems.

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

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