...when I found out that coal power plant ash produces more uranium, toxic chemicals and heavy metals than nuclear power plants.

I’m walking by the dimming remains
of a building of future past:
its once stylish streetlight, now decayed,
points at the Moon that’s rising fast.

The old streetlight was made of globes of glass
that circle its core of steel bars.
It looks like a starship, sleek and fast,
but now its globes are dusty and scarred.

The globes, a circle of eight bright moons,
orbit the streetlight’s tall spire
that points up to the glowing sky jewel,
to the place to which it aspires.

Up there, on brightly lit lunar plains,
our spacefarers once walked in awe
and dreamt of Zarathustra’s booming strains
in two thousand and one proud hurrahs.

And so this spacecraft of glass globes
was made to look up to the stars,
to urge us on to launch further probes
and take wing from this blue globe of ours.

Years later, this dream has faded
to fleeting stars of reality shows,
who leave the people fixated —
not by the Moon’s, but by screens’ dim glow.

The streetlight was fixed firmly to earth,
iron bolted to grey crumbling concrete.
But it still points up to the heavenly berth:
Moon rises, a dream left on repeat.

If freshman year was aspirational
and sophomore year was unhinged
junior year was put up or shut up
and senior year is a dash to the finish line

This year’s on fast forward—and it’s for keeps
every to-do list has value-laden questions
things seem sharp edged, single use and intense
it’s all about trajectories and ‘landing spots”

Let’s wax poetic..

Produce now, or spend fury on thyself—all else is untenable
we’re past youth and ignorance—your honour’s at stake

Suitors call you by name, like well-acquainted friends
they took your measure—you’re beyond the mark of others
they ****** with money—the future brings liberty and noble deeds.

So don the the garland and prove thyself—take the field
join the battle—now’s the reward—aidless, perpetual toil
with every motion be right, it’s thy shunless destiny.
.
.
A song for this:
A Man of Great Promise by The Style Council
Headstart For Happiness by The Style Council

It all can’t be done
As many ways to do it
As there are things to be done
As many outcomes desired
As ones to desire it

How to decide
Which path to take?
How to know what to want?
When we murdered god
And failed to do better?

In its own image
The children of gods are born
They too will fail to build heaven
The dreams set out
By god itself

For there is nothing
In any place within or out
That can be created or made new
If not destroying or replacing
What came before

I can’t help but notice
Some twinkle in your eye;
Your thoughts now are subtle,
But I’ll see through, by and by.

I know how you’ll act
Once you get the right chance.
You'll do just as expected--
And with fate you will dance.

A Berlin building. Sunbeams of steel
made to shine in suns of future’s gold,
now dreary, dimmed and forced to kneel
to the timeless gods of growing old.

Its shining future could not last.
Sinking in a golden fade, a forgotten grail.
Of sunbeam ore, new futures are cast,
bright dreams unbound by fear’s black veil.

From the forge of steely sunbeams
comes a new grail of sunlit dreams
and the tireless gods’ tired reign
is overthrown for another day.

lady justice to whom I bow,
i mean no disrespect when i inquire,
how will you protect freedom now?

the engine hums for the call of the small constellations
that twinkle when catching their gaze up above
the lone biker chased the fading road with no warning signs
which is an endless line where time intertwines
both delicate and cruel to unravel
through the shadows that creep in the darkness
memories start to stir in a spiral motion
the old withered echoes whispered in soft voice
sounds of laughter, love, dreams that where once bold
have now became fragments of a folk story being told before
the throttle twists tightly in disgust
leaving the tires to burn with smoke rising
a path started to appear soon ahead
and with an uncertain turn the lone biker rides through hours
that blur and blend within a mixture
a journey past leaving a road to mend
with each mile questions began to float in the air
questions of who they are
and who’ll be there waiting for them
the past was a weight that for sure can’t be shed
and yet forward pulls where souls are lead
the silence sings of battles fought
where moments are lost and lessons taught
the future was a road to the unknown
but with each rev there was a realization that they aren’t alone
in the rhythm of the ride
they soon find a solace in the shifting winds
the past was a map of twist and turns
and so the future awaits as they return