Unconventional Beauty Found in the Underbelly of Suburbia
Dead trees stand tall
Beige brittle limbs stiff as dried out bones
Silver inside the screaming sky
Snaking between evergreens
Darker than Hooker’s Green in pure white
Mourning.
Time wasting but what
Could that mean when
Time is just a social
Construct created to
Give the soul some senseless
Semblance of meaning.
Chain link fence pressed against
Trees evergreen turning tangerine
Littered with shattered glass
Discarded bikes and empty plastic bottles.
Tawny grass laid flat under
January’s last temper tantrum
Creatures dead and barely hanging on
Crawl just beneath the surface
Pulsing with the pull of
Mother Moon.
Spirits shift in a kaleidoscope
Eyes rolling ‘round a bird bath
Fallen to the transference
Of a saccharine strangers sight.
Sheer winsomeness of all eukarya
Wonder and reverence for
Onion grass and neon bulbs
Bursting full between
Cement and plastic domiciles.
Smiles in skinned knees stinging
With sidewalk chalk and gravel rocks
Point of view is
Thrown through and back to
The fragile sense of self
And memory that inhabits me.
Again or for the first time
There is beauty in the world
Outside of unseen cities
And the unconventional.
Just one question I have to ask
“Who will remember us
When we’re gone?
Who will be left when
The world falls apart?”
Our incessant destruction
Of Gaea’s green
And gracious expanse
What’s been done
Cannot be fixed
As there is no backspace
On man-made “natural” disasters.
So maybe memory isn’t the best thing to leave behind.
And maybe beauty isn’t so tightly confined in nature and surroundings.