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rjaye21
Robert James Egan
United Kingdom, Staffordshire, Newcastle under Lyme

Words: 178
Access: Public
Comments: 1

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Shh.

Shhh'�
Listen, there is no sound.

Constant grind & whine of metal against metal now ceased.
As the liquidated remains of our tropical, submerged history expire we lament for a new reserve.
The black upon black,
the legacy of centuries burned,
our subservience to luxury and the modern.


Comfortable, climate adjusted rooms and automobile,
fast paced, unwavering time-scale with a 2 day turn-around from the far east jet wash.
Clouds present little more than a lull in the violence of the sun after layers removed,
our lives forever filled with regret,
how we were told, how we were warned, how we selected inaction & opposed,
prefer our subservience to luxury and the modern.


Baked in ever increasing Celsius, the parched remains of great wooded hills blow dust in the dry breeze,
we inhaled, our lungs now filled with the effluent of incessant industrial progress & motion,
we choked, eventually.
How green once was, now replaced with dulcet earthen tones and arid vastness,
reduced to screen viewed recordings from more fertile memories,
resent our subservience to luxury and the modern.

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Comments  
Jewels Comment by: Jewels - 2007-01-26 15:03
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Great poem, really poignant ,the rhythm and the imagery sets a real atmosphere, intoxicating. It actually feels a bit like Turner painting, like you've tied yourself to the mast of modernity and all it's pollution in order to reflect upon greener times.
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