Autopsies

 This silver essence foreshadows my dreams and desires -

the thoughts of one meek being unto another humble servant.

We, the humble race that kills in the name of life,

wages war in the name of peace,

and destroys in the name of creation.

These worlds once lost may never be rediscovered,

yet to merely lose them would be a blessing,

we could do them no more harm.

The blood lies slaughtered in the streets

and we have our motives, excuses all the same.

Why are so many things worth more to us dead than alive,

destroyed rather than whole?

You never know what you had until it's gone -

only because that's when you realize how much you need it.

Never bother to look and tell what beauty something holds inside -

just wait for the autopsy.

In The Memory Of

 Your blood bath slaughters

flow into the streets and homes

of innocent children

borne into a position of misfortune.

And we create a better world

by making another generation

of homeless orphans.

Humane Dodo

The dark night sky beckons with the cold chill of a moonless wind.

I hear the owls cry for food on the branches of technology.

Phone lines replace vines and their trees stand as no more than round planks.

Civilization weakens ecology to survive in a more sophisticated manner.

And how much is this rainforest worth?

Each tree having its own spirit and name.

The power of these fruits destroyed as serenely as the passing of a bird aeons ago.

And yet we call it the dodo, were the name not better suited to us?

Destroyers of our only existence, the world who feeds us and satisfies our every whim and crave.

How humane is the human race anyway?