The Future Is Self Sustaining and Poetic

THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER

The world is my oyster,
Each shining face,
Is the mother of pearl,
The rough edges of hardship,
That grate and erode our beliefs,
Smooth the way to greater understandings.

The oyster of my world,
Is opening to new possibilities,
As my joy becomes a childs laugh,
My friendship opens to new faces,
My road is winding and endless,
For I have nowhere to be,
No-one to become,
I am just being myself.

The Red Cross marks the place where orphans seek a home,
And I bring my juggling balls and the music of my heart,
To remind them that love is the stranger that comes to visit,
As they hug me and play with the balloons,
The mother of pearl shines in smiling children that find a home,
In the heart of happiness so tender,
Thailand is the city of smiles only when the child is remembered.

The pharaohs of Egypt are modern politicians,
Sculptures become billboard beacons,
Treasures become trade as liquid gold,
The pyramids of an ancient past rise naturally out of the desert,
As the mirage of capitalism seems like a deserted island,
Yet as one gets closer the illusion will return to dust,
As the desert measures sands through the hour glass,
That the past is a forgotten future,
Yet ancient wisdom silently remains entombed,
In time.

The Athenian Acropolis a temple to the gods,
Grecian pillars house myths and legends,
For many came to sacrifice and act on Athenian democracy,
As its foundations now lay in ruins,
For the city-state lost its treasure chest to subterfuge,
As Mediterranean refugees fled to beaches,
To remember the dream of Club Med,
For only prosperity brings happiness,
And philosophy is quoted by aging academics and artisans,
As remnants of meaning of Greek isles,
In a society that has no oracle in which to turn.

The British Isles is a place to which I return,
Descending through the clouds,
Friends meet me with open arms,
As we sit by the canal and compare notes,
As the stream of life passes us by.

The Scottish highlands rolling mountains and valleys,
Shetland ponies and crags,
Beers and a time lag,
As the bonnie Scots try not to think of England,
As secession succeeds in Edinburgh castle,
As a tourist fortress buoyed by north sea gas,
Keeps the wind in the sails,
Yet some are sailing in renewable waters,
Intentional communities that remember the land and celtic rituals,
For the future is in self sustaining and poetic,
As the vast terrain inter-lochs