Are we lost to a land of too many tribes,
Too many choices, of too many scales,
Too many communities of which to
avail?
Could we be better off fractured and scattered
Left shattered like glass by the highway
A shimmering reminder to the wayward passerby,
All is not lost though we
Subside
Could that we merely be torn asunder,
Pulverized, then obliterated by ritual fire,
Then wrung from the colluding liquified minds
Crystaline,
Incandescent,
Molten
Purifide
To form as before but free from parameters previously applied,
Forgotten in the furnace of insanity and strife
Stiffled,
Tempered,
Emboldend,
Refined
There is a group of words in my mind I cannot seem to seperate. The title represents two of the interior, juxtaposed outside the form of another poem.
It begins as a rumination on the disconnect between generations and geography made so starkly apparent by the recent election, and exacerbated by the duality of social media: it can isolate and embitter an individual in and toward their local community, while at the same time connect and embolden them with a global ego/echo chamber. It sat as one stanza for many months, until I decided to share it. It seemed hollow to pose such vague commentary, and not even attempt to address it, which catalyzed its creation and completion.
