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Just one more -----thought

 How has the irrational governed rational beings?

How have the subjectivity overruled objective truths 

Once held dear?

Even Satan himself can't come to dream of this

Masterpiece.


There was once harmony.

A stake, infinitely long, 

Stretched to the fountain of youth itself

A symbiotic ecosystem of vinal plants and air-dwelling creatures

Primarily, two candidates reside


One contender, with its lush yield in spring

Famed year round

Bringing the vibrant ecosystems that now 

Inhabit


The other compliments

With its yield in the fall

For all to enjoy the reap

Anytime


With the crevices and nooks

Where the primary contenders neglected,

An exotic specimen, always to be found, 

Enjoying the fruits of their labors


Dawn one took,

Dusk the other


Always plenty located


Of course, the gods were bored,

As they always craved action.


Subsequently, a parasite entered the picture.

As tiny as it is,

Wrecked irreversible havoc


Feeding on the lush vitality,

Both plants toiled during winter and summer

With its just sizzling or frigid rays wilting life itself

No more was there the exotic life that dwelled for

Neither plant can afford to lose

Precious 

Real--

--Estate


So brothers and sisters turned

Just as red and black ants who got shacked in a jar,

And the race formed for

Every

--Single

-----Inch

The energy was as sparse as a leap-year

Always seductively demanding


Harmony was past

But a glimmer of hope still stands

Both plants have an urge

But it washed as the sweat on their brow

--Dropped

And the war helmet put on

Blinding all signs for

Impending peace


No longer was the parasite an issue,

For at the end,

Each plant had become immune


At this point,

The camaraderie was as easy as one word

But it isn't as effortless as it seems

Oh, how pride is so detrimental


For

Blood

Needs to be

Reimbursed


Fought as they fought,

So that in the end,

Nobody prevails


The canopy, littered with blood, stood 

Limp.

The ecosystem, sagging under the weight of each ray, had its vitality 

Torn.

And neither plant was robust enough to brave the next

Winter

Let's look at the next grove, said the next god,

Bored.

Comments

  1. Alan BishopOctober 20, 2024 at 5:41 PM

    The inspiration for this poem was the Rwandan Massacre. Just as the Europeans who favored the Tutsi people left, the mass population massacred this race changing the population of Africa itself, all because of one group of people hence the gods.

    ReplyDelete

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