The Disconnect
Poem about the loss of a bond between man and nature; we're not really a part of nature anymore.
A note on the concept of bees and butterflies: I’ve got questions, things to say,
By brooks and strings and farmhouse lights, we keep natural life at bay.
Clearly I’ve failed in understanding humanity and why we live life separate now,
Damn you all for lessons on everything but history in the world of ‘how.’
Every day I go to school and they don’t teach me a goddamn thing,
Fuck you all for assuming I know things about everything.
God’s a woman and She created this wonderful earth for me,
How can I inhabit it properly without knowing butterflies and bees?
Inside houses we’ve got our ecosystems, our miniature states of mind,
Just living life from the Stone Age and all these ancestors roosting inside.
Kill or be killed, hunted or eaten, we’re safe with our candlelight,
Loving poems dedicated instead to the soft sanctity of a night.
Moons and stars and sunsets bleeding, life I can barely comprehend,
No treatise about loving the earth has ever become my friend.
Oh, over here it’s sea glass and Amazon and the aesthetic of self-obsessed,
Pour me over the walls of history-- please give the natural world my best.
Questions and answers and qualifying theories, about the practice of turning in place,
Rudeness and roses and prickling fingers and old humanity showing up in my face.
Storms of butterflies and bees and things I haven't been able to forget,
Trying to leave behind our past, but it’s too hard to weather less.
Underworlds and mythology, just some old fairytales we spell out now,
Verifiable proof of living without nature as we live proud.
Wondrous hikes and pottery and bronze, no longer needed to survive,
Xanax and meditation and exercise have become our blessed routes to thrive.
You and I left nature behind just a few short years ago,
Zenith now rising on the cusp of humanity. Left behind to fuck and grow.
About the Creator
Amelia Moore
18-year-old writer who hopes to write stories for a living someday-- failing that, I'd like to become a mermaid.
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More stories from Amelia Moore and writers in Poets and other communities.
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Wow! Beautiful poem in Abecedarian style too! Excellent!
“ Xanax and meditation and exercises have become our blessed routes to thrive” God D but that truth hits hard. Great poem Amelia, I cringe to think of what will happen to humanity if we are ever forced to embrace nature again
Why do I find myself thinking that nature is well rid of us, more likely to thrive in our absence?