I searched the net for any news of rumoured peace and nature's scene; of creatures safe in shades of green; - the things great poets used to use. I searched for waters bathed in light; for some sweet music from the trees; for memories hidden in a breeze, that stir the soul with all their might. For autumn smells of youth I searched; for golden sunsets I had known; for kind winds that for me had blown the dead leaves from some silver-birch. I searched for rainbows big and small; the bow shaped hearts of water's light; that bowed in colours of delight before some scene of mountains tall. I searched for hills I used to see; those lowly, still, yet moving scenes. Earth used to pose, her muscles green; reserved, she showed her strength to me. I searched for stars that used to shine; the stars that at me used to blink a billion complimenting winks... But dead were those few I could find. And dead were all the scenes I found upon this electronic web: the tides weren't waving in their ebb; no winds to sweep leaves from the ground. And memories for me were not stirred; I did not smell the scent I sought; no breeze with any 'net' is caught. And fake were singing birds I heard. Some blue water was almost clean, but did not sparkle life because the sunset that did glaze it was not sinking in it's golden sheen. Rainbows did not joyfully play in water falls and dwarfed fountains; adverts blocked the views of mountains with vulgar things they had to say... Some said they had a deal for me: to see for real the things I'd seen; to briefly take in nature's scene; but money talks and spoke for me. And even if I could've spent a little time with Mother Earth, the views would have been half their worth; the feel wouldn't have been what was meant. For eyes above the sky intrude. I did not know of them before. But now I know, of this I'm sure: unswattable patrols are rude. And thus, in modern world I'm trapped, as on the net the creatures were. Mother earth spins as in a stir; spins tangled 'webs' of freedom sapped. The days flash by like a slow strobe; the nights sneak with their spying flies, -thus with less twinkles in their eyes; and dusk and dawn have only hope. The ghastly things of this new world are here to stay despite my strife. Obsolite is what was called life; to memory real days have been hurled. Those days when mostly there was earth, though people were still good and bad, were, on the whole, not quite as sad as this new age that's had it's birth. The clouds' silver linings are biege; are merging to great clouds of gloom; when clouds they come they speak of doom; when sun comes out we feel his rage. No going back, we march on fast, through angry weather, heating sun; though earth and we know earth has won, we live in hope that life will last. But life has already been slain, or so it seems, and died so fast; earth's stressless joys grew not to last; -thank God his earth may grow again! For now we, at least I, can't forget that life that once was life has gone; our chances of retrieval: none. Not even on the internet!
Reason for writing:
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Birth sign: Cancer
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