Messy Room: poem

beehiveMessy room. Dim Night.

Hours late. Moonlight.

Chai. Hardly touched.

Hours past, Pouring.
Never a poet. I tried. Lacking confidence, I failed.

I cannot capture in word. Or picture. Even the essence of this feeling.


They speak of accession. A New World.

They speak of deception. The Old World.


Dolores found her New World. Will we find ours?

A New World made on the Old one.


Gaia. Strong as ever. Takes blow after blow.

Gaia does not need ascend. Her children must. She was always ascended. Waiting for us to join.


We are children with a mess room.

A room so disheveled, we will have quite a time cleaning it.

But as is my style, we go in shelves rolled up.


Disorder, regains order. Soon it looks like a New Room.

Do not give up to the point of fear.


Scientists wonder why we know the World is close to ending.

Yet, we do nothing. Change nothing.


Science, the answer is simple. Common logic.

We look at the messy room, and have never cleaned a room before.

We let the mess pile up, only cleaning haphazardly.

A pair of socks into the laundry here. A small inch there.


Now we think there is nothing we can do. Too late.

Why change now, when the World is close to ending.

If instead you taught us with hope. Instead of the threat of total death.

Perhaps we wouldn’t be frozen forever between flight and fight.

For we cannot flight.

And that monster in the closet looks too mighty to fight.

Categories: Beginnings

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