It is the best of times.
It is the worst of times.
Mankind is the great creator.
Mankind is the great destroyer.
Life is an adventure
And we’re losing our way.
Our eyes are dimmed and
the digital torrent flows all day.
We walk the desert in our land.
We see robot wrecks
scattered in the sand.
Not broken pots or pillars of stone,
but defunct computers and pieces of bone.
But look! There’s a mirage of a sylvan land
where we can see a leafy glade
beckoning us for its cooling shade.
What life has settled there?
I hear no sounds from here.
There must be flowers and birds
and certainly nothing to fear.
This will be our place of wonder and beauty
where the unplanned is the norm;
where we can escape the media storms,
and enjoy ourselves alone.
Then we hear a voice from the trees
“I am the spirit of Chief Seattle.
Listen to me, please:
The earth does not belong to man,
man belongs to the earth.
Man did not weave the web of life,
he is merely a strand in it.”
This proud native of
over a century past
fears our dice are nearly cast.
Our earth is our mother
and surely we will take care of her.
But our dreams exceed our logic
and we will need some magic.
Our hopes and dreams will kindle new civilizations,
and their imaginations will foster great creations.
Then we won’t need to colonize space,
There will be magic here for the whole human race.
The robots will run through the sylvan glade
observed by creatures lurking in the shade.
The humans will be talking to everyone.
The humans and robots and creatures will be as one.
And the children will run by
chasing a butterfly.
They’ll look at the flowers of spring
and say, “There’s such a thing as everything.”
© 2019 Larry Kilham