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The Broken-Hearted



I understand those who devote themselves to condiments.
We have many options to choose between, but our choices ARE constrained.
The monotonous is monogamous.  An accretion of minutia.
When did we decide that the world couldn't be saved?
The world offers rebirth, recycling, but what we want is renewal, restoration.
When do you allow happiness and when do you deny it?
When did you decide that you would allow or deny it?
My eloquent accusation provokes a loquacious defense.
I am a ghost from the past, that wanted tomorrow more than anything
and found it, upon its arrival, abominable. The fanaticism of denial.
Is it a coincidence that we are destroying ourselves at the same time
we are developing artificial life?  Or is it natural, inevitable,
that one thing must go to make room for another?
The broken-hearted are buried on Earth, happy people on the moon.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.