Silent soldiers lying still
After the battle
For every thing
The creatures made
Five other things
Were thrown away
For every turn
Of every cog
The fuel they burned
Created smog
‘Til over time
Before too long
In fact, before
The fuel was gone
Their world could not
Sustain their waste
The climate changed
With break neck pace
A formation
Of pilings
Long past utility
Though still
They throw
A striking pose
Just before
The curtain
Falls
Perhaps, so can I
Imprecise
Imperfect
Reminded
I am an organic being
Cradled in a manufactured world
And my notions of beauty
Have been filtered
By the means of manufacture
But the rain
Didn’t come
Just as well
She thought
Letting the surf
Wash high up
Her pretty
Yellow
Boots
Accept the beauty
In what is revealed
Keep faith in the obscured
For every branch
A thousand leaves
For every fork
A thousand more
Just keep the faith
And carry on
I’ll find the way
Back to your heart
Call it a canyon
Or call it a rut
A pretty enough rut, you say
Perhaps… but still a rut
So I scamper out
Leaving a trail
Of dusty memory
Seeking the open vista above
The expanse of the big sky
A land of possibility