Obligatory Self-Obliteration
Industrialization of the Natural
Sunlight shimmers through leaves of jade
dew encompasses every blade.
Through Winter's shrill and Summer's moan
one might wonder just how they've grown.
I often ponder why we trade
such leaves of green for gold and stone.
The forest speaks and man pervades
searching for a deceitful throne.
They may find it some awful day
when the sky's black and the world's gray.
"Innovations", they seem so bleak
in the end, we'll see what we seek.
Riches unbeknownst to mankind
now it's air that we cannot find.
Through rubbled plains and cities ash
man will miss how they all once laughed.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Charles Oregano and writers in Poets and other communities.
Extra Credit
Extra credit, and how it serves me, whether I be a dutiful student, or a “flunkee,” it may round off my 4.0 GPA, and as such I will be pleased, or it may give me enough class credit for possibly, a D, I may work my poor fingers to the bone, etching graphite with no other wretched hand than my own, into a sea of loose leafs duly entitled “Fibrous Dysplasia of the Bone,” and how, I, moan, at the thought of my effort being reduced, diminished, ebbed and waned because of the effortless, I write notes and I put it in a socket, a locket under lock and key, forever protected so it can better serve my memory, while others write notes and take none of those precautions, they may summarize the lesson and then throw it in their back pocket, to me a holy scripture, a parchment of mass proportions, left to rot next to someones keester, to slip out onto the street and educate the masses with mediocrity, to be spun around countless times on a never ending cycle called “cold wash,” shocking really, when you realize that in terms of poverty and it’s cycle, with this attitude, they are that very lesson, doomed to be written by it’s maker, unable to change, trapped, a few sentences shy of a passed exam, I have studied for countless hours, given my soul to that godforsaken manhole called an “institution,” and never once have I complained until now, they say knowledge is power, yet I have none, as if I need college just to be someone, I have tried my hardest to get where I am, just to chase people who have gave half my effort, if that, I find myself cowering in my own shadow, and my shadow cowering among others, “You are the sum total of all of your choices,” they say, then why am I anything other than what I’ve always wanted to be, extra credit, and how it serves me, whether I be a dutiful student, or a “flunkee.”
By Charles Oregano5 years ago in Poets
We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I don’t even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
By Oneg In The Arctic3 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.