By Andrew R. Duckworth
It’s lush here in spring,
Storms weekly, wild temperatures
That remind me
Of society’s temperament.
Yet, somehow, we’re still alive,
For now.
We’re funny creatures.
We plant things to make
The garden look good,
But often nothing worth consuming.
Occasionally, I read the news
Coming from this and that corner,
Hearing the explosions
With each haunting word,
Seeing the crazed ignite
Through shallow reasoning
And lack of principle,
Fanatics burning without a cause.
The patriarchy? A matriarchy?
No, I fear a new monarchy,
The one they build
While we’re not looking,
Where neighbors bend
To the will of tyrants,
“Live and let live”-
The motto of yesterday.
My mind is consumed with prophecy,
Each day a fulfillment
In a plan I play little part in.
The truths we once treasured
Are now buried under weeds.
Will they blossom forth
From planted seeds?
Maybe.
But there isn’t a day that passes
That I don’t wake up thinking
We’ll never make it.
Poetry and Essays of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 