Rising Up

Lost between pages and piles of distractions
ever droning engine drum of artificial escape
limp, moth-eaten mannequin limbs propped against
restless birds inside ribcages scattering feathers

There is no anesthetic strong enough to obliterate
this deep green, groaning forest that continues to grow
impossible to silence the crashing violence of the sea
enclosed in a stainless steel container half its size

There is an holy thunder cloud that will surely rise
from beneath the writhing mass of the overwhelmed
a fearsome force of almighty nature to burst upon
the scorched earth arrogance of mankind's oppression

The twitching frustration of pinprick impatience
is just energy building like static electricity
the tickling sensation of all the insects scattering
in anticipation before the entire sky bursts open