Updated: Jul 23
Newton discovered the words for gravity in quarantine.
Today, we all keep on finding new things to pick up and clean.
Anchoring ourselves in
“The world hasn’t died, it’s just closing its eyes.”
Humanity sleeps with heavy eyelids that are oil-tinged skies,
Mankind is a massive, modern machine living after its rise.
Within its metal arms, little cogs rotate and hum,
We, the people, churn and run the post-kingdom.
The common men have such grand schemes,
Look at us, living an utopia without kings and queens.
We worship one god, its name is The Economy
That’s why none of us can sit unless its for productivity
We’re workers existing for activity.
What is a human, but a commodity?
But, when the world stops, and the smokestacks stagger…
What is left, but what matters?
Our fleeting touch
Our flickering love
Humanity is titanical, tyrannical, and never quite invincible
For every great empire has been extinguished.
Rome fell, Constantinople collapsed,
And Mesopotamia never whispered from her grave.
Every time, one last fatal shout went out under a cave
Like the last candle on a birthday cake
The mountains clapped and nudged the plates,
Another year went by and the Earth still waits.
I go to bed earlier than I ever have
Then I watch the clocks flicker for hours
Each night shorter than the last,
Wake me when the morning comes.
I see my thoughts in a pale pink glow
That echoes like the sunset right outside the window,
The one that I’m already missing.
I don’t want to spend my adulthood wishing
That I knew my father better.
I’ve listened and I’ve watched and I’ve learned,
That there is never enough time.
When this is all over, I promise I’ll always remember
And I’ll take every chance to take you to watch a rose sunset.
The early sky pours itself over the earth,
Like drizzled, rose-colored oil served forth.
I nudge the bolts into the dawn
And throw myself past the overgrown lawns.
The highway past the trees
And under the overpass is achingly empty.
But, the birds are louder than they’ve ever been,
Or maybe I didn’t listen then.
What else have I missed?
We’re born obsessed with ourselves and die obsessed.
the earth will take me, but will it be
after I’ve seen her
liquid mornings have doused the sound of people moving in a blur
and when the cars with their busy little lives don’t speed past,
Was the movement of time ever meant to last?
“What goes up, must come down”
Another word for fate is gravity
And in the time it takes for one of us to breathe...
It’s like we were never even there.