GrandMother Of Apples
© Surazeus
2016 03 14
While wandering bombed-out ruins of Atlanta,
after world civilization collapsed
in brutal wars between religious cults,
two dozen people find patch of green grass
bursting through cracks in asphalt highway lanes,
so they plant seeds they scavenged from glass stores
and gather together under bright stars.
Old woman with long silver hair that blows
in evening wind, wearing long leather coat,
stands before them as they sit around fire
and opens large book she bears in both hands,
then chants loud basic principles of physics
that describe laws which govern our universe.
They all say Amen, then sing lofty hymns
about atoms, evolution, and math,
gazing upward at infinite space with awe
while old woman recites Song of Creation
that describes beginning of all existence
when Chaos explodes at Flash of Big Bang
then atoms form in swirl of Flaring Forth
to generate galaxies, glowing stars,
and planets where conscious life wakes from dream
as fish evolve mice to monkeys to men.
Old woman spreads her arms wide to gleaming stars
and explains how billions of galaxies
each containing trillions of glowing stars
nourish life on zillions of thriving planets
like our own small world in infinite space,
so we must savor each moment of life
and generate children so we may live
as long as we can in spin of our world.
Old woman tells them of how she was born
when cities gleamed bright, full of human life,
and billions of people drove motor cars,
watched television, flew airplanes in clouds,
and talked to each other on mobile phones,
but people who still believed in old gods
fought vicious wars over whose god was real,
and destroyed everything engineers made.
Old woman smiles as she gazes at eyes
that reflect stars, and whispers soft as wind
that we are still alive in war-torn world
so we shall be fruitful and multiply
to thrive again in this world of lost souls,
then tired grandmother of apples lies down
and closes her eyes of infinite skies.
Seven grandchildren sit around old woman
as she lies down under new apple tree
and dissolves to soil absorbed by its roots,
and they see her face in each blooming apple
that shimmers with drops of refreshing rain.
© Surazeus
2016 03 14
While wandering bombed-out ruins of Atlanta,
after world civilization collapsed
in brutal wars between religious cults,
two dozen people find patch of green grass
bursting through cracks in asphalt highway lanes,
so they plant seeds they scavenged from glass stores
and gather together under bright stars.
Old woman with long silver hair that blows
in evening wind, wearing long leather coat,
stands before them as they sit around fire
and opens large book she bears in both hands,
then chants loud basic principles of physics
that describe laws which govern our universe.
They all say Amen, then sing lofty hymns
about atoms, evolution, and math,
gazing upward at infinite space with awe
while old woman recites Song of Creation
that describes beginning of all existence
when Chaos explodes at Flash of Big Bang
then atoms form in swirl of Flaring Forth
to generate galaxies, glowing stars,
and planets where conscious life wakes from dream
as fish evolve mice to monkeys to men.
Old woman spreads her arms wide to gleaming stars
and explains how billions of galaxies
each containing trillions of glowing stars
nourish life on zillions of thriving planets
like our own small world in infinite space,
so we must savor each moment of life
and generate children so we may live
as long as we can in spin of our world.
Old woman tells them of how she was born
when cities gleamed bright, full of human life,
and billions of people drove motor cars,
watched television, flew airplanes in clouds,
and talked to each other on mobile phones,
but people who still believed in old gods
fought vicious wars over whose god was real,
and destroyed everything engineers made.
Old woman smiles as she gazes at eyes
that reflect stars, and whispers soft as wind
that we are still alive in war-torn world
so we shall be fruitful and multiply
to thrive again in this world of lost souls,
then tired grandmother of apples lies down
and closes her eyes of infinite skies.
Seven grandchildren sit around old woman
as she lies down under new apple tree
and dissolves to soil absorbed by its roots,
and they see her face in each blooming apple
that shimmers with drops of refreshing rain.
Interesting poem about the rebuilding of civilization.
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