April Poetry: Confluent Pearls

— by Susan Malins —

We are confluent pearls
Twining tight to choke our world,
Deranged but for the heartbeat.

Consenting minds enshrine themselves
And bow and coil and suture,
Meat tongues do flap in constant rap
And swell to slur the wonder.

“We know not what we do!”
Untrue.
We know more than our forebears did,
Or think we do,
And then explain,
Afflicted in the forebrain.

The drum beats on and shapes a song.
We sense an ancient thunder.

All that we need was given us.
All we deny is far more real
Than words within our minds,

Fragmented echoes in a conjure cave
Whence matter emanates to splatter
Our diseased inventions
Sore upon her breast.

Traditions die.
The Earth lives on,
And surely she’ll remember
Our minds, our tongues, our rape of her,
Strong gas, not clear and tender
Reflection of the mystery
Beyond all logic’s grasp
The nurturance and harmony
Which could have been our path.

“Greed Inbred with Intellect”
A thoughtful epitaph.