From a time when pixies played with fairies

and Oberon was king,

I hear the whistle of ocean spouts

skip over babbling waves

in a language we no longer embrace.

 

In that time before time,

in lands said to have never existed,

earth diffused unpolluted maternal breath

through cilia-forests.

 

The Kraken governed oceanic tides

and titans ruled their domains absolute.

Monsters were real and feared as gods,

giants walked beside pigmies,

and witches lived deep in forests,

haunted and far away from prying eyes.

 

The Renaissance split the world

into a new age of grand expression

unchallenged into the forever.

Myths were genuine.

Legends spoke of ancient lost lands,

a divine chalice, a golden fleece

bad luck and broken backs.

 

An ailing history

passes on,

becomes legend.

 

Mechanical works cast us away,

industry rebuilds Camelot as pyramids of steel

beneath an achromatic cloud of burnt coal.

The Dutchman sails into forever.

 

Under a malefic cloak of technology,

biodegraded oceans boil,

emaciated trees petrify,

color bleeds monochrome wastelands.

 

Evolution migrates, and forgets.

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