We have seen the magic bullet Cure all disease. Cows won't go extinct. Lush, green pastures run to the waters' edges. Twisted ankles in gopher holes are passe. Trees are well-placed for shade beneath a relentless sky. The lands are full, plush and crowded With work-a-day leather. Wool is everywhere. The barren creeks are clear of poison. The grunts and runts of the stead Blissfully graze, munching towards our tables. Brown eggs thrive in computerized out buildings. We are idle. No wars, disease or poverty. It is either life or death by choice. We implant, are implanted, removeable, And sustainable as any Victorian. In place of the Immaculate Heart, I hang a picture of my old pet, Sophie, Walking on a balance beam, With a strange black V high in the sky. And with all this, we grow fat.
870 species go extinct each year. That would wipe out everything in 10 000 years.
She wails at me From her forgotten cove Perched atop a steel mast. I listen to her, Though shrill her voice rings, Yet I do not run. People scamper away like ants Escaping extinction, But when she beckons, My feet stay locked.
The fire cleanses all As it nears, And her voice Shall lead me to...
Through eyes of dull green it sees, Through deep brown bark it breathes; A place of shelter it does render, For those have become too tender.
Humans are not the only animals it aids, For many boundless beings flock to its shade. To the wise Old Oak tree all the animals go, The place they hide from the wind that blows.
A habitat it does provide, For a world that remains hidden from our eyes; A world that will soon cease to exist, which shall soon dissapate into a mist.
The sound of an axe swinging in the distance, is the sound of another Old Oak being stripped from existence. This Old Oak is now the last of its kind, A species extinct thanks to the demand of the human mind.
Amor Fati! Sayed Nietzsche and wiped the tears from his face But did he know the gravity of this insight with heavy clarity? The grandiose, wishful celebration of life with the acceptance of faith is but a mask that's too light to stand in the way of the actuality of reality, We don't choose our faith, we can just accept it and try to love it But can you truly love something that is staring you in the eye while pulling the trigger of oblivion? I doubt it.
If you are lucky, the face of faith is a loving, caring young women with the future in her eyes, giving you slight signs about how great it will be when tomorrow comes.
But back to the executor, what about Him, huh? How can you take the Ultimate Dismissal with pride and love?? How can you see the mechanics of evolution, the generation of many different individuals, with a wide distribution of traits. Of which just a few golden combinations are well suited for the specific moment Understanding, that the rest of the beings, who have feelings (especially those of suffering) Will prove themselves unworthy to enter the Gates of the next stage of selection? I don’t know.
But I do hope you are the one who will enter I do hope I will too But my hope is of no effect We will just see what life shows to be correct Until then let’s not spoil the moment and save the regret
Child alone in the grief and tumult of Battle He is the Man with the means of destruction right there in his hands ****, Soldier it's your job! Poetry is how we make things reprehensible.
Child alone on a barren and dusty field of gleaming white bones He is the Man without a plan to feed his family today Cry, Farmer it's your destiny! Poetry is how we make things intolerable.
Child alone amid the debris of broken pledges and covenants He is the Man whose promises are nothing but expediency Smile, Politician and be proud of your legacies! Poetry is how we make things unconscionable.
Children alone on a planet of diseased and contaminated potential They are the Men who meant well, had dreams, made more children Smile, Humanity and accept the Fate of your speciality! Poetry is how we make things undeniable.
Okay, so I'm having a bad day today and my faith in Humanity has taken a few knocks of late. But ... Poetry is how we make things sayable.
weaponized microspace; insects dying off from mysterious diseases; whole species of birds disappear mysteriously; insects replaced by nanodrones & genetically altered clones; & drones AI self-propelled cameras & bombs: Nicolás Maduro knows first hand & will surely testify to all of this
The final of the dinosaurs, Did they awaken on that day, Knowing what was in store? That they were all headed for annihilation? If so what will man do, On the day we awaken, And a great unease settles over the world, As something strikes at the heart of Earth.