Under smoldering red desert skies
Earthquake-like tremors displace sand
And giant gears pulling wide treads give rise
To a towering, onyx colored machine of man.

A scientific prophecy once foretold
That the oceans and trees could be killed
And in its toxic love of black gold
Humanity granted this prophecy fulfilled.

It used to warm our bodies and minds
But now, our sun is something to fear
Our lives and colossal machines combine
And chances of survival remain unclear.

For military rule has exploited
Our natural will to fight and survive
They’ve usurped us and anointed
Themselves rulers of the inside.

What’s left of our once great society
Roams the Earth in onyx colored arcs
Scientists try to return Earth’s sobriety
As we wage war for oligarchs.

Terrorism between 3 arcs ensues
As each believes the one to solve
The problem of an Earth abused
Will become ruler by forceful resolve.

What's the point of this?
If no one sees my poems,
I'm doing nothing.

Like a flame igniting an old engine
A frisk of energy sparked
Turning my rusty, frozen gears
And restoring my memories of you.
In a hidden corridor in time -
A dimension since locked away
We two share an instant -
An unobtainable, infinite moment.
Like a fog creeping in on my soul -
An ironic, melancholy nostalgia;
I dream of sunlight on canopy roads
In a place I once called home.
Trapped in a reality without you
We've since broken our promise,
Extinguishing the embers
We swore to smolder forever.
This life is a sort of purgatory -
A spiritual test and journey;
A short waiting period before
We again walk hidden corridors.

I'm onto all this.

My perspective is in alignment
I hear the trees and feel those
Who watch over us and whisper prose
That many fail to notice.

I live in a parallel netherworld
Filled with strange, glorious music
Where time and everything you see
Just ain't what it seems.

It's really very strange
Watching everyone pass by
In slow motion monotone
As I glide through the sky.

I guess enlightenment is for the unenlightened.

When I watch nature -
And look at the narrow strips
Of what we've allowed to persist of that world

=================================
Squeezed between concrete
Sidewalks, roads, and metal sewer grates.
=================================

I wonder if -
As I look upon bare tree branches
Adjusting to the ever-moving autumn air ~
Nature is some sort of escape for the corrupted human spirit
Another world or plane of existence
Where one may finally be taught to know oneself.

If this is the case,
May one never truly visit this place?
Until finally departing from this world?
Must we be forced to play the role of the perpetual onlooker?
Able to see heaven and dream about it,
But never feel, taste, or bathe in its light?

In contrast,
Could the changing color of leaves,
Death, decay and rebirth before our eyes
Be merely a surface level,
Indifferent reminder
That time continues to march ever onward - - -
Without regard to our concerns,
Pains, and feelings about ourselves?

Is it possible that this strange,
Mysterious beauty that we look upon,
But never truly come to understand
Is only in place to remind us
Of its ever-lasting presence?
And in turn,
The extent to which our own existences
Are so  v e r y  fragile and limited
To short blips in time
On a tiny spec of dust
In  s p a c e  ?