Walking sullied streets,
noting all the old deceits;
gold leaf peeling off in sheets.
~
Cracked and weathered stone,
reminiscent of old bone
cast aside to rot alone.
~
Maybe I’m jaded,
but it’s luster has faded,
past dignities degraded.
~
How have we become,
so uncaring, heartless, numb,
is there naught that can be done?
~
Dare we even try
to uphold truth to that lie,
“Great Republics can not die“?
~
If we can’t, we’re done.
Hare on off and have some fun.
Democracy’s race is run.
With your every stride
Fallen leaves and memories
Fragment into mulch.
You think yourself bold,
Decisive man of action:
Midas of decay;
Modern day Nero:
Tweeting while Rome succumbs
To internal flames.
Survey these ashes
Stark remains of the fury
From your careless match.
Where Colossus stood
Only dust and rubble stir
In warm autumn breeze
And yet:
Despite your chaos,
Slender verdant tendrils grow
Rooting your ruins
Proving to you, Wretched Waste,
That even now, hope remains.
They must think us dogs
salivating to their bells
doing tricks for tiny treats!
~
And how can they not
when we drool at every cue
playing games they tell us to?
~
Is there any choice?
After all, they hold the cards
and set the rules we must regard.
~
Why must we regard
their arbitrary edicts
when their only care
is their self-serving interests?
Bite the hands that feed, I say!
Ignore their strident bellows!
Exercise our every freedom!
Let us run across the meadows!
Earth, my sympathies.
I also feel the strainings,
Frictions and fissures,
Relentless tidal forces,
Of distant, unseen actors.
~
I to, feel the heat
Of all that wretched tension
Rising in my core.
~
Sometimes I, like you,
Can not contain the pressure
And can find myself,
In burning rings of fire,
Suffering mass eruptions.
~
Yet, though we may quake
Along our many fault lines,
We remain intact!
~
When I feel that pull
And all that building pressure
I can still find peace,
A modicum of solace,
In all your fractured beauty,
My planetary mother.
Aroil in Pain 