Harken Ozymandias

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.

His Master’s Voice?

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!

Orbital Oasis

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.