The Future of an IllusionA Poem by The TheySitting at a café Over the smell of coffee Scents of car fumes, vomit and piss Worm their way into your nose.
The men, women, children Pass you by without a glance Each one on their own way As uncaring feet pound pavement.
Indifferent people in expensive suits Walk by tourists objectifying with cameras Who accidently capture in their frames The cold and the old slouching through the streets.
Even relaxing at the table You feel caught up in the streaming crowds As if you were being swept away By these forces fighting for control.
As you sit as idle observer To the worried pace of the city streets You can sense the blind and frantic power Of those who feed off our illusion.
(This illusion lies in each of us When we close our eyes to the waking world And believe that we could be happy In our isolation from reality)
You can see it in the passers-by Whose eyes focus intently ahead: Afraid to look at other faces As if they feared the connection.
Many imprison themselves in aesthetics Of glass steel towers looking down on the earth And drive isolation’s grim repetition In a hopeless effort to make their own world.
Our illusion puts them there When we do not question the surrounding order Whose existence allows us to live in comfort Insulating our delusions.
Our ignorance demands their ignorance Which caters to our selfishness And divides the passing days With the rhythm of their control.
Their thoughts structure steel geography That dreams that it could scrape the sky And make its mark on the heavens By countermanding nature’s will.
But nature stands indifferent to Man’s attempt to supersede Its will that gives to him his arrogance That leads him towards his own destruction.
But I call you from this nature now To return with me to where I stand: On this mountain with the trees Who beckon with their open branches:
Do not fight against nature’s rhythm That springs the flowers from the ground As it wills the sun to set upon us And gives us the food to carry on.
I see myself as this reality As feet take care to tread on soil To avoid crushing the delicate petals That smile upward towards the sun.
Time provides the future harvest, But of its success, time will tell. So I stand here with my garden hoe In loving silence, tilling the land.
Takes me from my restlessness: Watching the ground provide the future, Submitting myself to nature’s pulse.
But the scenery of planned geometry Which covers soil with concrete slabs, As if embarrassed by earthly origins, Tries to move to a different rhythm:
The glare of halogen eyes that stare In unquiet nights in impatient lines Find their way towards distant houses That protect their owners from working lives.
This world screams out from its distortion Of nature’s will that lies ignored: It lays the path of its own destruction As it claims its own power to endure.
But nature’s spirit will always triumph, Whether through man’s self-inflicted end At the hands of his selfish illusion, Or through his careful heeding of the truth:
This world that’s lost its quite places Demands we become its place of quiet; To silence the thoughts that construct man’s world, So that we absorb ourselves in nature’s will:
The heart that beats inside you now Beats not for the one in whom it dwells, But allows nature a fleeting glimpse Of itself through conscious human eyes.
This truth whispers even now From the deafening world of the city streets That hurries towards its ignorant end As it attempts
to escape its fate. Do not forsake the earth in waking life, And wait for death to pull you into the soil To meld with nature’s majestic cadence And be one with your reality. © 2012 The TheyReviews
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6 Reviews Added on January 6, 2012 Last Updated on January 6, 2012 AuthorThe TheyCambridge, MAAboutI am the most normal person you will ever meet. I am a man who aspires to gain no one's attention. My greatest dream is to stagnate in a cubical in some routine 9 to 5 job while wearing a suit. My pri.. more..Writing
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