by Aunt Jessica, for Gwendolyn
(Inspired by Lewis Carroll)
The slippy soot and swallowing sea
bewildered and bejangled me,
so that as far as I could stare,
I only gasped for more clean air.
It wasn’t that my tongue was tied.
A telly tale that nature lied.
I fought the frame around myself,
and sought no thing of gold or wealth.
I shut them tight to see no more,
but the sea lured my eyes onto the shore.
The black was rising from the blue.
We’d given the sea a darkened hue.
And there was no peace that I could see,
no fluttering flock to follow me.
This was the end, and I saw then:
All evolution occurs within
the pure at heart, and hollows those
who deny the breeze the wind composed.
There must be darkness to have one,
To be free of fear when the sun is done.
And I might have lived to see that day,
but the sea was swishing, murky gray.
The blackened mass just ate away,
and made all the makers of dismay
prolong the evil earth debris,
When we do not act, but only be,
When we do not speak, but only see,
When we do not plea, but disagree.
We simmer in our sunny slush,
and cannot seem to push or flush
the dark that caused the light to go,
or admit that we could sink so low.
It will be told a fairy tale,
of how the earth was once so frail.
It will be the most atrocious talk
of flickering, radioactive shock.
No one to see the light ignite,
decomposing in the mighty night.
No one to see the end of things,
too dark to see what it will bring.
Forever a drifting leaf will fly,
amidst a baron, broken sky.
With each strong makes darkness weak.
Each leaf that flew, the less black leaked.
So if tomorrow’s just another day,
then leap into it, away from stay!
And do not fear what sings inside.
We’ll hum that tune for those who died.
We’ll need that song now more and more.
We will create a rumbling ROAR!
It will guide us, lead us, plant a seed,
Our hearts the drums that beat good deeds.
There was no earthly eye did see
us rise against what was to be.
Acceptance kills a piece of good,
and we could stop it. I know we could.
Just show the earth some kind remorse
for taking out such leafy forests,
because leaves have veins and they do course
the blood of earth that is our source.
Just leave that tangled web alone,
For it has given creatures homes.
And do not pick the prickly rose
that gives the shrub such lovely clothes.
Heal the helpless, sacred sea.
Respect the coiled, toggled tree.
It will repay you with its fruit,
and nourish you with its rich root.
Perchance the land is not so cursed.
Maybe it could be reversed
with mending hands and halcyon minds.
Could man salvage his own kind?
There are enough who do deserve
the chance to at least try to preserve,
to soothe and cleanse earth’s yawning wounds,
to remedy dark, to resume the bloom.
It’s up to you now — you’re alive.
You must have the courage to revive
this damaged world we have subdued.
I wish it was as new as you.
But now you must treat it as we did not:
A borrowed gift that can’t be bought.
A treasure of the greatest worth,
It is our one–and our only–Earth.
You must rid it of its murky dark,
and breathe your brave as you embark
upon a life of pure empirical merit,
to save this world you now inherit.
Just bring the bright and blanket born,
and morning’s page will soon be torn.
The cyclic sphere of end will cease
When we clear the dark…
And embrace the peace.