Time Here

July 17, 2003

My heart is speaking tonight of the shine
that only comes from sunlight on perfect waterfalls.
My senses have been surrounded on all sides by
the most important beauty of this fading world.
The mud, the fallen trees, the dense air
entrapped by millions of leaves on a hundred trees.
I once sold my mind to be part of that certain beauty.
My obsessions onced lied inside the core of nature.
Herbalism, nature, the movement of the earth
against the backdrop of the universe once moved me
more than any music, any poem, or any painting.
In my eyes, I still see the trees,
on my flesh is the memory of falling water,
in my ears are the the crunching leaves,
the scent of recent rain offered by mudpuddles,
and the iron taste from the Yellow Spring still remains
as reminders of why I still offer my praise
to the woodland and the earth that restore in me
just a little bit of that love of life
sometimes still so unfamiliar to me.
It is when I look up at the moon that I remember
that I love to wake up each day for one more chance
to embrace all the sensations that I will one day lose.
I reach out to the things that still exist
and know through dreams and warning prophecies
that someday, not so far away, all of it will be gone.
Life and existence hang so precariously in our hands.
We toss it out the window as days kill our desire
to love, to feel, to want to be here, and we kill
it all so slowly, day by day, -not instantly.
If someone comes after us, how will they ever know
that not everyone was thoughtless and careless?
They will see the monuments we made to progress,
that were embraced as our godhood and superior lives.
What small legacy can we leave?
Those of us who don't agree that the waste
of the world was worth the massive constructs,
the massive destructs, and the massive connects.
My words will be indeciferable among the ruin.
The world continues a quest for more nothingness,
and we who don't agree get thrown aside with disgust.
We don't fit in with the great quest to force one
very disappointing and destructive reality as right.
If I could offer as just one lasting memory
that not everyone was sightless and arrogantly certain
in the knowledge of a god that wants this annihilation,
I'd leave my thoughtform for the next intelligence
as a ghost of those of us who kept crying
for the fact that my children may never know
with such clarity as me that the earth was once
a vibrant, radiant and living thing.