The Times CollideA Poem by Spoken
I am drawn to their world in the same animated way
a child matures scenes of concentrated imagery
wondering what happens when cars eradicate gasoline and raise electricity?
will we have giant 100 foot three pronged plugs double sided
one shoved in the backside of our cars
the other following the lines of a sidewalk leading to our homes?
Will we be confined in tiny apartment silos
towering over smog
but just below blackened sky lines?
Our children’s children will laugh in giddy innocence
cupping their hands to their mouth
as we tell them how we used to carry waded pieces of paper called money
dipping our fingers in our pockets
wrestling lint for that one last penny
to equal six cents so we could have a dollar back
change was extra baggage
only offering empty hands tributary means to arbitrary ideals
like spending less equals less expenditure
when truth be told loose coins always belly up in the same place
we find ourselves now
a slow tumble from his pockets
tire rolling under couch cushions
collecting dust
and we’ll tell them back in our time people only had themselves to rely on
with the sweat of their brow they labored through most of their days
because we were the mechanical gears of society
streets once littered in graffiti artistry and jazz saxophones
turn to steel and presses
forming assembly lines of evolved self sustaining immortality
And I wonder if God were like us.
Creating for the quench of discovery and gluttonous growth
much like our burgeon robots do now
maybe we are a birth, upon birth, upon birth
in the ultimate forever search
for the why’s and what’s and how comes?
A sour rot suckles my gums and I tongue at the notion
plaqued on reservoirs leading to the banks of contemplation
where Happiness watches the rivers dry
I shake the thought like an
etch-a-sketch effect
standing from my kitchen table and walking with a clean slate
feeling hope’s warmth again
until I catch a glimpse of the silos and blackened sky lines
from my window
and I throw my hands to my face
feeling the tears flow
my gut wrenches
as I see how real
it all becomes
© 2008 SpokenAuthor's Note
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Added on September 20, 2008Last Updated on December 28, 2008 AuthorSpokenToto, KSAboutI am.. never the same. I am.. {fill in the blank} I am.. ! I am.. ? I could talk to you for hours about me.... and you'd walk away stratching your head. SOMETIMES YOU JUST .. more..Writing
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