(a muse upon human destruction of each other and Mother Earth)

her privileged refuge, a diminished station

on an island illusion, up high in the beyond

through a telescope mounted upon tripod

picking out gaps inside the crepuscular rays

an impatient sun had lacerated, ripped open

in the cloak of meandering, anorexic clouds

she surveys Last Day’s blooded field of battle

fought upon a once lush green meadow below

she dons a simple crown of wild white poppies

poppies in harmony with a revived insensitivity

formerly she boastfully held humanity’s sure fate

in the palm of her neat hand, sowed life’s seeds

though as of now, chooses sterilization of volition

her heavenly body not deserving of fertility’s gift

yet, just what is it she sees under the mare’s tail?

certainly, the cinders of conflict have at last cooled

a tangled web of scorched, disfigured mortal scraps

the symmetry in rigor mortis eyes pegged wide open

upon Armageddon, only the full bellied blasé magpies

claim triumph, their penchant for carrion duly satisfied


24 thoughts on “UNDER THE MARE’S TAIL

  1. You have so Eloquently described with profound metaphor man’s destruction by his own hand. Mike , an amazing and moving poetry.

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