We build ladders in our brains
to paradises of our dreams,
each generation using the tools
invented by their desires,
created in wisdom they understood
for ascending above misery's swamps.
But though our hammers grow more complicated
and we find new ways to sharpen our nails
the landscape of life is still a mix of gardens and deserts.
Never does utopia rule the sunrise
nor will hell's breath char the moments beyond recognition
because what truly measures the world's pulse
is the beat of our spirit,
either seeing future with hope or darkness.
Days of suffering and happiness
have always been our legacy
every age having doom prophets
thinking they facing a future, bleak and hopeless.
Where our feet step on the race to a plot
will touch both flowers and waste.
If our diary of tomorrows sees only dumps
then trash is all well find,
because it is most of all,
the sight from our state of mind.
A contest entry
- Expressing the change by chino333.
750 points, ended May 22, 9 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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This is distinct, needs to be re-read to grasp changing layers as metphor are viewed in different ways each read. Great fourth stanza so true to life, we have happiness and doom in each age of "enlightenment". Each future looks hopeless, yet, happiness in life is attainable.
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wow
I love this poem and your veiw on how it is destiney -
Beautifully versed with your continued mastery-- --Well Done & Best of luck in the contest!
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