Lost in Space

Do you not see how this load lays right hard upon us

This lax remiss inertia like an immanent payload

Bears down, and underneath it down we go, all tangled up

Inevitably?

 

Remiss, contented, tacit, we consent to let things go,

Easily moon,

And delectate around about the fatal shores

Where dreams are sold a dime a piece and over-fold

Our thoughts, obscuring mental means,

 

However might we get above a mind’s indifference

Protracted and abetted as if all things ordained just so,

As if our natural state were just to blunder boisterously

Towards our derelictions.? Get you ardour! Get alive!

 

That upwardly acute and gradual learning curve

Calls for ascent from where we stand at bottom now;

Wherefore and whence

A starting handle, starting gun, whose engines stir

Our current turgid vagrancy?

 

Within, contagiously, full virulency afire

Desire might spur a mind to do, accomplish, and outface,

This present lustreless leisure bearing-in with awful threat,

Obstructing all our futures overcome by late impress?

 

How might a crush of people unimpressed by simple touch

Or lowly sight and smell, witless of common sense and reason?

The signs are all about us, stare point-blank in evidence

Yet how resigned and sluggard

 

Remains this closed-pursuit society laid-back . A file

Of honey-seekers even as come flowerless days

Racing upon us reckless, and the honey running out

Becoming substituted

 

Ever anon and greater, greater, by a routine erzatz

Debasements, lookalikes, their inauthentic clog

Supplants unknowingly and stealthily invaded public tastes

Works semaphores

 

Flags signals where we’re heading, pointing-out disconsolate days

To come when we undone awake to suffering haplessly

On posthumous compunction and the eleventh hour

Having haply passed, the vineyard closed, and we at sea adrift

 

In fact still loitering the marketplace awaiting a purse to hire

No shelter of abode gives rest, or to recouperate in;

The whole nine yards of shooting match gone gifted with the farm

To troubled days unbridled

 

And come down on us like The hoary Philistines

Came down on Samson, shorn and weakly he,

We also by our own provision stand here enervated.

Yet we are able yet to admit a spark to rise, to raise

Up light enough in us so let our accide consume

 

Complete a metanoia,

To our selves regeneration, and thereafter breathes the planet,

So learn; throw off your chains, you have a world to win

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