The wind whistled through
The narrow alleyways -
I wondered if it missed the rustling
Of trees like I did.
Perhaps the storm reminisces
Of the times
That the rain sank into the earth,
And didn't slip across the tarmac,
Swallowed by the drain.
You may try as much as you please,
But the bricks will not be blown down.
I may cheer you on,
But it is too late for our world.
There is every chance that I was born
A handful of centuries later than I was
Designed for,
But you have been here all the while;
Mother, you have been here
Longer than me.
You were there when beasts grew
Into my ancestors,
When there was naught but your kingdom,
And you stand here as it crumbles again.
There is a quiet countryside somewhere,
But it is only a matter of time.
The roads never end,
And I fear for the future,
When there is no more ground for them
To cover. There will be no trees,
No plants, no creatures,
And I am beginning to believe
That mankind, much like yourself,
Will soon be buried beneath the tarmac.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
