Future Schemes

Future Schemes

All hail the triumph

of natures ascendant beings,

I walked a forest of their future schemes;

Carpetted in seemless reams of

astroturf fantastic;

abrasive to the feet;

Unlike the soft, supple, soiled soots

that cushioned each footfall beforehand.

The trees, moulds of styrofoam,

smelling rather of plastic;

the water was a sterile saline mixture;

the mud, a concrete amalgamation made

to bear a kind of semblance.

The flowers, of satin and silk comprised,

never shed a single petal

or ever knew the brilliance of fresh

efflorescence.

No morning chorus disrupted

the relief of this artificial hall's

echoing vacuum of peace;

no creature of flesh and blood

marred this museum of synthetic rendition

with their unwholesome corporeal struggles.

The ethera was so stiff and vacant,

as was the olfactory muse,

mute and insalient.

Where nothing ever ended,

seminal redemption was denied its

suprise conception.

The soulless statues of that hallow,

insentient grove,

concrete and plaster composed,

were grieving epitaphs

mourning over the faded efigy

of former selves retiring;

resigned to the haunting spectral order

of reminder,

for the absentee of heart,

nevermore to bleed for anythings less

than black blood.

I walked a forest of future schemes,

and all was neat and tidy,

clean and trim,

nothing ever dyed or ever really

lived,

missing was the mud, the dirt, the grit;

the filthy mess of life in the glory of its

full-swing.

I rue the triumph of nature's greatest

progeny,

whose selfish means deemed his

mothers matrix fruitless,

and deign to say:

hats off dear mother,

you chose well;

it was your lessons that felled

the former mastership,

now tag along and see what we do with it.

JKM