Beyond (day 1190)

The long lines on my calendar
Tell me there’s trouble on the rise,
A big storm from heaven to hell
Brewing, rumbling, shaking these windows.

Eyes in the darkness blink.
Hades and Cerberus
Between my thoughts and time
Scatter the answers to unknown questions.

Aggrieve, my letters of sound reasoning.
All suspicious thoughts and delicate fantasies
Shall surface uncontrollably
Rearing like the plunging thunderbird.

Yet here time’s lines keep stretching on,
In spite my tariff for illustrious Charon
Clutched deep to my hearth,
I, simple and meager, shoulder my armor.

Protest Poetry (day 975)

What was the arctic before it became an oil well?
What was a forest overrun with trees?
What was my name before I was a sibling?
What was my right before I’d been stamped?
Did I come straight from a hologram?
Was I brought home on a road?
Whence and where from did the light come?
And the warmth, did it come before gas, painted and housed within four block walls of a thousand pixels per inch?
Where did I walk to before a wood chipped trail led my way?
How did the day fill before the calendar?
Can a city be a city without city lights?
How did one tarry about a late night corner before floating electric drones showed I was withing safety?

Because dammit, I’m starting to wonder
Is there any point in the quest?

What is the point in stuffing our bellies?
Where did the idea of nik-naks come hither from?
How did function get replaced by aesthetics?
When did choice become demand?
When did want become a dire need?
Why did our brothers and sisters turn from extensions of ourselves to examples of our desires?
When did we lose all of our trust?
And where has my community resettled?
Where has my tree grown its roots?
Where is my moon?

This is a protest poem