A Tale of Two Worlds
poem
poem
There is this world:
Where cradled canyons sing of hawthorn wood in the forest
Where lies a gurgling spring, and young birds flute their chorus.
Where the fogs of night are fountains that spill
spectres of glistened moonlight, dark and deep.
The dream whispers, calling; softly, weeping tears
Of sadly floating memories.
There is another world:
Where self-destructive Man violates Natures prime law.
Nurturing all life, asking nothing, yet we abuse her.
Her body defaced, her organs raped.
Life is balanced on a razor sharp edge,
eyeless with dismay, black as old water.
We are our own saboteur.
Chemical clouds collect in shrouds
to make curtain-crafted shapes in the sour sky,
while below, the earth, the sea, the clouds,
the blue and green, all tinge brown.
Deep in the earth beneath yellowed gardens,
seed and soil are dust stalks, brittle as eggshell.
We can have this again:
Young birds scampering in trees,
young children feeling the breeze.
A new dawning light full of mottled, multicoloured butterflies
captured within a creative space of artful design.
The scent of soil, the drop of rain,
each element of Nature, scattered on the grass.
Below a drape of cotton clouds and sunshine,
red-purple pendants embrace the tall breathless wall
where the sunflower,
a symbol of sacrifice for Man’s harshness,
will atone and sweep away grey residues.
to place on this sad groaning land
a laudanum.