The Autumn People

(title and litany inspired by R. Bradbury)

 

World of stone

Ancient, difficult wood and sometimes glass

Though passageways for

Light and air are

Mostly shuttered nowadays

 

It is an age beyond the last

Ancient, classic, invasion, modern, after-modern

Mires of agenda

That refused to die

So that the next time had no name

No one after, either, to name in distant reason

This last time

 

In anarchy, all freedom’s lost

No one in safety alone

In groups of tribal bands

Joined for number

 

There is no core

Nothing on which to ride an atom or to

Split its parts

 

We came together as we could

Or nothing

 

Nothing, nothing, nothing

To have into grey days

 

Summer without

Winter long past to be accounted

No one remembers spring

 

This is what we are

This is what we left one season

Now only one time of year

 

Forever fallen

Ever falling

 

Who are we?

Once we were leaves

Attached, belonging to the binding of

The book of life

 

Where did we live?

In colors, living textures

On a primal world

 

What is left now?

Ghosts of patterns

What might have been

 

Why do we live?

It’s all that’s left

The spine is broken

 

We exist, barely assembled

What is left of

Dark matter, once

All light has been erased

 

The litany has ended

We return below ground

To sleep uneven with rude weapons

Close to our faces

 

Failing eyesight

Hands no longer trustworthy

In holding what is left

Into the evening of the Earth

 

C L Couch

 

 

https://schietree.wordpress.com/2012/02/26/imagefeeling/