A poem about how Man should listen to the calls of Nature. |
Ai! Now I stand here yet no one can hear. No one can hear thy desperate calls beyond thy strange, oppresing walls. Ai! Here are we gathered together and pray do we for pleasant weather. And we spread out the colorful tapestry. O! the clouds, how they are so lovely. The World has gone up in violet flames and we all have one to blame. Blocks and bombs, light and lead; muscle and machine, thy living and thy dead. From here to Eternity, and from there to Infinity; all the stars in thy starry heavens, and all the candy bars in the Seven-Elevens; they're just shrinking into space at a gut-wrenching pace. Every pair of lovers, that lay with each other under thy warm covers; every fish in thy Port of Dover and every Four-leaf Clover, somehow they listen now, and so does thy Lord, but I don' t know how, to my gray and vulgar cries, though some would call them lies. O! how thou must come hither, just as thy serpent may slither. Ai! thou has come hither, to thy place, but now I weep and ask for your grace. O! I have sinned! Penance I ask! Do anything I will, any task. This Earthly Tapestry is hung from the skylines of such smoldering city lights, and nothing to my best ability have I done to stop it, only do I want to run. That is thy sin! O! how I cried when I read about his widowed bride it touched me so deep inside. O! how I cried when she died of the brown city fog. I could've helped by not burning that log. And I remember that day, the day I cried, as the Day the Earth Died. Ai! Every bird in the air, every fish ensnared, all the flowers that bloom, and all of our cousins that groom, somehow they know, that if on this colorful tapestry, if we continue heedlessly, Man will soon have to pay with his life, for his audacity. . . |