Shall we ever know
The actual tipping point
On that inexorable fulcrum
When the ancient glacier
Tumbles into the void?
What markers
On butterfly wings
Shall herald our demise:
The vivid slash
Blood red on black
As zero hour for Adam’s kind?
Must thought and foresight
Be forever trammelled
In that godly rush
To hound the earth’s resources?
Fires rage
Storms bewail
The mud slides
Wend their way
Across the village green
Subsuming all.
Nor all the perfumes of Arabia
Can staunch the roiling stench
That deep corruption wills
Beyond dystopian fantasy
When human’s self-consume
Their finite living world.
“Tis a sickness, doll
Consumptive in its wraith
No reason nor rhyme
Its god like faith
Begets in dwindling time
The apogee of sweet destruction”.
October 2019
Gar Jones
The actual tipping point
On that inexorable fulcrum
When the ancient glacier
Tumbles into the void?
What markers
On butterfly wings
Shall herald our demise:
The vivid slash
Blood red on black
As zero hour for Adam’s kind?
Must thought and foresight
Be forever trammelled
In that godly rush
To hound the earth’s resources?
Fires rage
Storms bewail
The mud slides
Wend their way
Across the village green
Subsuming all.
Nor all the perfumes of Arabia
Can staunch the roiling stench
That deep corruption wills
Beyond dystopian fantasy
When human’s self-consume
Their finite living world.
“Tis a sickness, doll
Consumptive in its wraith
No reason nor rhyme
Its god like faith
Begets in dwindling time
The apogee of sweet destruction”.
October 2019
Gar Jones
