An Unplanned Siesta

Again, I find myself

Standing at a crossroads,

Pondering directions.

Unsure which path to take.

Should I? Could I? Perhaps?

~

The sun is overhead.

At the roadside, flowers.

Birdsong lilts from afar.

Wheat heads rustle nearer.

~

It’s been a long journey,

Full of rush and bother,

That led me to this place.

~

Beside these thoroughfares

I shall pause, breathe, relax.

~

There’s time for a siesta.

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!