Construction in Progress

A poem

The old grammar school
in the centre of town
her bricks came tumbling down
as felled trees

concrete rising rapidly from the rubble
quick growing silver birches 
which burst the suburban bubble
they nest new neighbours

outside the window
their worry perches 
squeaking at dawn
in some unknown avian song

“they don’t belong”
said Mr Quo, to Mrs Quo, reciprocated 

“first, this, then that. Soon, all we know 
- gone.”

… and still the sun shone
through the room
but, nobody noticed 

the rosey hues around yesteryears anecdotists
overwhelming any intervention

live - whilst you are!
cried the April rain
when she speckled the skies 
to remind us, again
to appreciate the coming season 

it’s nothing new
- change happens 
it doesn’t need a reason

we don’t own a thing
but, perhaps, our bodies
- and even those, we borrow

do we truly even own our joy, and our sorrow?

Or, is it a fantasy we experience
fleeting
just chemical pathways
in our brains
meeting?

we leave as we came in 
judged in death
not the pennies in our pocket
or, the wrinkles on our skin

reclaimed alike

she, the earth 
best we charm her, not harm her

we, merely her sentinels
and our bodies, our armour 
glistening in the sun
as we gatekeep
her bounty 
till we return 
to it

and maybe, just maybe
we have a skeletal claim
to build more than memories 
perhaps more than a name
etched on some stone 
or, in hearts and minds

the war on mortality 
goes on

in this vanity - is there any wealth?

why do we battle to be remembered?

a deathless self 

what does it tell us about ourselves - our wants, and needs

in building pyramids 
to our field of reeds?

the search for immortality 
goes on

we can conquer flesh 
in passion
love, or lust
regardless
the one thing
never to die
I trust 
is our urge 
to bring an Alexandra 
to foreign soils 

what is the essence of our existence
the sum of all we are 
everything we have ever explored, felt and thought
every emotion questioned, and answer, sought
every moment passing
before us
 - to us
every moment passing 
before us
 - after us?

as buildings rise
above us
where we lie

in the timeline of the Earths existence
am I - are we - good gatekeepers
in humanities contingent subsistence?

© Darius the Mate

---

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Reach out, let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

https://nicecissist.blog

Wordplay Pathway