There are still such things as dreamsA Poem by BeccyThere became an overstepping of the mark, a thinning of the gulf between us and the brutes. It lies in the past, but disfigures the future; and though heaven is broad and blue it cannot explain all that has passed, why the shepherd turned his flock about. And thus, we search, mostly among suburban chimneys, below the clouds; trapped in an insomniac hinterland, where so much remains unexplained and frankincence and myrrh have all but faded from memory. Of late, (so it seems,) science has rescued us. Though only as panacea; a cure-all of sorts; lauded as the only means of escape at our disposal; that whatever falls apart is predictable, and therefore both explainable and curable. Gone is Voltaire's 'mad daughter,' replaced by method and order. Those 'little grey cells,' so beloved of Poirot, designer outcomes the new raison d'être; though lichen covered Aspens still decay serenely, as priests preach decorum. Here and there, pockets of resistance survive. A last hippie, an Amish horse drawn cart, those who have yet to visit Ikea and re-assemble the brutalised jigsaw of a tree. But the wilderness has been suborned to the turning of knobs, the pressing of buttons. Soon, of necessity, it will be time again for the self sharpening ploughshare, the gnarled, weather beaten hand, as paleness, along with the unholy precision of technology, passes; and in passing, turns such wizardry to so much chaff blown on the wind; It will be likened to a rise of sea, a fall of earth, a cleansing and sloughing; allowing the outnumbered dead to rise, sip wine and converse in civilised tones, as all over the world, machines stop and men, who once scourged, make peace. This will give us a chance to dream again, appreciate the beauty of ripening grain, the silver leaping of fish, full gilled, unpoisoned, absolving all blame; as spring to summer sweetly births and eyes once closed take fresh delight in sun and sky and a new dawn's light. Then again...
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25 Reviews Added on May 25, 2020 Last Updated on April 15, 2022 AuthorBeccyUnited KingdomAboutI'm forty four, single and have a lovely fifteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and real.. more..Writing
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