"facsimile" poems - Hello Poetry

Where do you see yourself in a year? Still living here - A tactile skyline atop pillars of smoke Heavy with guilt And the craftsmanship of a generation of men To whom Earth is a rock, immortal Untouched by the bouts of the smog which ascend To hold up their forges? Where that which is green must also be man-made And an old plant-pot On an old window-sill Is the closest to what was here before? Is it a facsimile? Where your throat hurts, Chemicals an ersatz flowing stream Of purest water - And why is rainfall the freshest you can drink? You haven’t always been here. Where were you before? Was it green Or blue, or any other colour Besides this abiding grey? Perhaps There were rainbows and colours And sunlight, unfiltered by smog Or dust. Warm, purposeful. Her fragility charmed you. Because our Earth is not immortal. A wanderer In space, motherly, who are we to defile her? A species of smoke and tar turning her soft hues sour Colours unknown to nature Like a drop of arsenic in a stream flowing through rocks? Do you see yourself living In a fortress, tumultuous to its steel bones Each day burrowing deeper into her body, Claiming her for its own, and ruining her at the same time? So you think about your opportunity. This life which fills her air, pulsing and vibrant, To restore the purity we are missing - Because Human and Nature are as one, Invention is necessary but we are losing our time, Virescent leaves brushing in the wind, Our friends are loving, laughing, living And we realise now that we are able to do so much better. Or does none of that matter, somehow? We make money to spend on plastic. We are born, we work, we breathe, we die, But we are still yet to run out of time So where do you see yourself in a year?

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Nov 8, 2018

Nov 8, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC

LewisHyden

Human Nature

Where do you see yourself in a year? Still living here - A tactile skyline atop pillars of smoke Heavy with guilt And the craftsmanship of a generation of men To whom Earth is a rock, immortal Untouched by the bouts of the smog which ascend To hold up their forges? Where that which is green must also be man-made And an old plant-pot On an old window-sill Is the closest to what was here before? Is it a facsimile? Where your throat hurts, Chemicals an ersatz flowing stream Of purest water - And why is rainfall the freshest you can drink? You haven’t always been here. Where were you before? Was it green Or blue, or any other colour Besides this abiding grey? Perhaps There were rainbows and colours And sunlight, unfiltered by smog Or dust. Warm, purposeful. Her fragility charmed you. Because our Earth is not immortal. A wanderer In space, motherly, who are we to defile her? A species of smoke and tar turning her soft hues sour Colours unknown to nature Like a drop of arsenic in a stream flowing through rocks? Do you see yourself living In a fortress, tumultuous to its steel bones Each day burrowing deeper into her body, Claiming her for its own, and ruining her at the same time? So you think about your opportunity. This life which fills her air, pulsing and vibrant, To restore the purity we are missing - Because Human and Nature are as one, Invention is necessary but we are losing our time, Virescent leaves brushing in the wind, Our friends are loving, laughing, living And we realise now that we are able to do so much better. Or does none of that matter, somehow? We make money to spend on plastic. We are born, we work, we breathe, we die, But we are still yet to run out of time So where do you see yourself in a year?