Extinction

A poem about a romantic struggle with nature versus technology.

Walking the crick's beaten
watery line towards
advancing skies, rushing
my heart to beat further.

Pumping my legs through dark
dregs and painted mud flats,
like endless cavern walls,
the timber here is vast.

And I, like a conifer that
cannot hold fluid green
needles, dies like the rest
of its bottomless crew.

No sight is there a love
of lost things by foolish
measures or the lack of
self-control or piety;

there is only a ship
capsized by my own swell
of selfishness and true
indigence, vacant waves.

Now you captured beasts here
in strong heights could ask for
a silence in respect,
knowing what has remained:

an indifferent face,
a restless tomorrow,
squandered youth's brave cry, and
the Mohican's of slaves.

Storms choking the fast age
of digital triumph,
my pulse quickens the ebb---
things dry finding Love's end.