We thought we were the rise and fall of the world,
could we have been more wrong..
I remember an old proverb,
"Control is foolish without batteries,
because once they run out.
Your stuck on
one channel,
watching
a singular view unchanging,
Could we mould the world,
like a pottery class we're moulding it
thinking we could
paint it,
kiln it,
and it was perfection..
But we had a malevolent arrogance,
thinking we were saintly,
all though we thought we were saints.
So boastful of our accomplishments,
we never looked at the singular crack.
Barley visible to the eye, but there never the less.
After a while we ignored it, as we never
expected
Our work to falter..
I remember a proverb that paid heed to this.
Discontinuity may be a scratch,
visually constrained
but protracted in depth. malevolent
Beneath will never show the truth till
it collapses within its self..
Wordy I know, but a truth of now.
Never paying attention to the scratch
but not seeing the fracture just waiting for that
singular weight to
descend us to the now. So many cracks in the world.
Now no matter our skill the world is just putty,
remoulding itself with every new day..
A sunrise of reflection,
Dusk hiding the truth of our folly.
We now live in this new world of our undoing..
The poetry wheel is fragmentary,
the vase now floating, shifting in the well
we used to mould it with.
And we stare at the
sunrise seeing our
vindictive creation...
We are the evil of this world, a creation of arrogance.
