“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Monday, February 3, 2020
316 million tons: Our weight on the world
Deadweight
Feels heavier
Without a light source
Emitting and casting off more than
Darkness which regenerates
On itself
Like a quiet tumor
Reaching
Look at Atlas,
His flexed muscles
Atop his torso
Showing his amassed
Strength and Dilemmas,
Symbolic
The woman is rounded
Into fetal position
Cradling her empty
Gut, where lead linings
Rust
She must endure
the pulseless womb
Internally,
Empty
He will never feel this weight
Carried
in her pit, shriveling up
Potential
Against will
She will take on more
Despite this moment
Wedged under a
Ticking clock
Like counting down
Our rock planet teeters
Without her brace
It would be wise of man to
Expect the Fall.
Painting by Adolph von Menzel (1815-1905), 'Sister Emily sleeping' c. 1848 in Public Domain.
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