Lost in the Cycle
I.
Casual convention would demand
That I sit appalled at such a sight.
And I suppose I must confess I am.
Serverance, cealed doors, and setting suns.
Rusted belts clasped around tattered
Jeans hanging on for dear life.
Just keep hanging on, hanging on.
Disillusioned by unkept promises
And the holy security net,
Leaving only vast, untamed wildernesses
Of empty shopping shells and
Quiet restless streets stirring
For a change.
II.
From here I am caught up by
Powerful gusts of reason that cast me
Tumbling through the ether of space and time,
I land amid a Spring blooming with
Climbing towers, neat homes, and bull fights.
The bear’s forrest has been chased away
By the concrete jungle’s silicon hand.
We worship the invisible warrior fighting
For better, bigger, faster, and more.
To those who have been given much
Much will be expected.
III.
I stumble through this reality riding
On the waves of Plutus’ game.
Each fall hurts no less than the last,
Each high is taking a ride with a kid
Who just got his license.
Endless open opportunity soon
To be snuffed out and reborn.
The phoenix’s tune plays,
And the cycle marches on.
~Evan James~
Photo Credit: asmuSe