lundi 7 mars 2011

Story's End

Photo by Ron Walker

I guess every story has an ending,
every person, every grain of sand.
I tend not to think about it
though I've had a few of them...

Inside every rock are infinite particles
settling into cliffs and oceans,
statues built to Rome and war,
Caesar this, Caesar that,
whilst the coloseum roars with
triumphant glory!

Somebody died today,
sound the gong:
perhaps this time it is Mother Earth.

How long will she be here to guide us,
she who is so vulnerable?
Why do we always forget her
in our business equations?

We'd die without her comforts
her warmth, her spring showers,
her wonderful foodstuffs,

Her shapeshifting winters,
her tremors and floods,
her carcinogenic viruses...
I guess we all have to die someday.

But I wouldn't be caught dead
in deep space or the solar wind,
I'd tumble unencumbered and preserved
or be heated up like water,
effervescent, then boiling.

It's a joke how we take
our mothers for granted.

None are perfect although
we want to be the One.
Just wait another ten or twenty years
until the first injury comes
and you're figuring it out on the run
or in terrible denial,
whatever is best for the kid,
bear it all or
dump it!

I did both
through foolishness
and acute gullibility.
I hope you will forgive me:
There was a third way.

And now as I honor my own mothers,
All seven generations of them,
I can't even imagine
life without technology!
The world must have been a
hard and lonely place
without human networking.

I remember a lot of good these days
and I'm forgetting the bad.
Why hold on to it? 
I let it glide into space
to evaporate with the best of them.

There are just so many years
left to become graceful
before the story's end.

Dance and make love.
Write a poem.
Paint a landscape.
Capture earth's beauty.

Then sleep and dream it again.
That's all I can do
and it's usually enough
to keep me interested.

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