Poem: The permanence of our descent

Written By Will Power

Before we planted seeds, we lived in a garden.
In expectation of that first tilth, we all lived in a garden.
Was it that first harvest, that damned us to this course?
Perhaps it was the fire in our bellies, or light in our hands,
That caused this deviation, led us, sat an aglow candle at our table,
Captured the confidences of the wide and deep, but has now has taken us,
Captive and hungry ourselves, within the great machine that we cannot see,
For the gears and fire in our eyes.

After we planted seeds, we could see the garden no longer.
With each succeeding plough, we could see the garden no longer.
With each succession, we tested the depths of the great essence.
When we stripped and undermined the life-giving mother, 
Reaping ourself-sown destruction,
Without hesitation and ignoring all admonition,
What was there was taken, misplaced, and forgotten before we knew,
But we had known all along.

As we prepared our bed, we started a garden.
While the parching darkness unfolded, we started a garden.
Disruption would be renounced, and the seasons rhyme again.
Our new place, a return to that we once frequented, 
And only knew in a sense.
A trickle, and then a flood. 
A harvest shared, life, and earth mended and fair,
Would take us to our sleep.

Paterson, NSW
April 2022

Will Power
Previous

Poem: Watagan Morning
Next

Essay: A mindset for resilience