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/
clcouch123 
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