A silent, greening place, in Spring, among the hills,

A bower soft, of moss and fern, a secret, lonely, scene,

Where singing birds have never come, and now they are so few,

And almost silent now their song, yet leaves still dance upon the breeze, 

And turn the hills, first dark, then light, as veils of mist conceal the sun,

Then, like spirits, swirl away, transformed in shape and mood,

And in the air the changing scents of blossoms, white and pink, 

The humming of the bees, and by my side a quiet brook,

To lay and read a precious book, in precious solitude,

To reflect on life, on what my youth was like,

And what the years have brought and made.

Here I sit, just looking on, at the beauty that is left,

While scents and sounds wash over me,

Enraptured by a lotus dream, of a world beyond this glade,

A world of love and joy, where Paradise is real.

For no matter where I look, a Darkness sits in wait,

Some melancholy brooding thing, that thrives on wickedness,

That, like a pestilence, has spread, among those who think they’re good,

Who, to an unnamed god, still pray, who other gods ignore, 

And wonder if they have it wrong, for gods will have their say,

Or so say those who still believe in miracles and saints,

That vain attempt to make divine an ape, ashamed of what it is,

And as the darkness spreads afar, I seek calmness in my heart,

Weighed down by all I see, the chaos, and the misery, the sad polluted sea,

By fear and rage, by hate and lies, by conflicts yet to come; 

Carnage walks across the world, with Slaughter by his side

From west to east they stride down roads built long ago,

By Ignorance, by Tyranny, overseen by Greed.

We have murdered and destroyed, as my countrymen applaud,

Nations who’ve done no harm to us, they won’t forget our name.

And here we brag of liberty while breaking all the laws,

Living in a fetid swamp where Hypocrisy reigns supreme,

Protecting all the cheats and frauds, from exposure to the light,

And in that muck lie banks and courts, and rich men’s parliaments,

Those staged democracies, those illusions for the poor,

And poor because they’re robbed, just slaves who think they’re free,

For, as McLuhan said, “Of course, that’s why they have TV,”

My heart sinks more on recent news we’ve sent robots into space, 

To search for life on Mars, while extinction looms on Earth;

The madness of Humanity, we’re Nature’s worst mistake,

So, I’ll rest my head and read this book, written long ago,

Of the Golden Age, that never was, but on reading becomes real,

And dream again of times long lost, for what else is there to do,

When Oblivion is in motion, our common Fate now sealed,

But imagine what we cannot have, and what we cannot do.