The Road

A brand of silken concrete
Is rendered by the rain.
Marks don’t mark though many feet
Have trod this chartered lane.

The sidewalk feels a dame approach,
Leaning on her sticks,
But baneful distant drones encroach,
And blushing moons affix.
The lady casts away her pelt
And grasps her bogus props.
She bolts across the concrete belt
Toward a maze of shops.
Then doddering gait she swift resumes
Amid a dirge of horns,
And staggers off inside the flumes:
These cursed commerce-thorns.

The sky knows not its feelings
So weeps for bitter shame.
Science does its dealings,
Euphoria now tame.

At night a fitful blinking
Disturbs the darkness’ air.
Near daylight hope is sinking,
For dolour hues the fair.

If every sheet of concrete now
Was peeled from where it laid,
Where should the shards be taken now?
How can they be unmade?
And would beneath the airless lie
A golden-green delight?
Or has bliss long been stifled by
Rapacious human plight?

Enriched we are in comfort;
Impoverished, though, in soul.
Wasted is the convert:
Seek more and dig a hole.
Candour lands in deathly places;
Conform and you may save.
Search for ancestral paces,
And find a concrete grave.

We need to be the model race,
We must unite in ease.
We live here on a pale grey face,
But everything we seize!
Content we are with sitting here,
Though many things we want.
Think not of ancient Eden-land,
But ever treasure-hunt.

Forget your weeping willow trees!
Heed not your stormy thoughts!
For hungry is humanity,
And mighty is our force!


The silken band winds ever on
Beyond horizons dank,
Defying depths and heights again
And long as hearts are blank.

The End

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