Carl PortenFrom

Poetry By Carl Porten

An’ all of history...

An’ all of history,
was just a dream,
where love grew in meadows
an’ floated down streams.

Where compassion bloomed
with the beauty of rose,
tended by Nature
all reaped what she sows.

An’ neath wing through clouds,
in a world where none cry,
on wings of pure love,
fair an’ kindness fly by.

Deer dancing through meadows,
sheep hopscotch ‘cross cliffs,
whales play in calm waters
all love how they lived.

‘Till came one day,
with industrial fog,
an’ a weapon so strong,
to kill even gods.

An’ strong an’ wise,
an’ just in compassion,
all dying in hearts,
reflected by actions.

I see the disaster,
an’ head hung low,
ask God for an answer,
that nobody knows.

‘Cause we could return,
a paradise lost,
if hearts reach new depths
to find what we forgot.

Forgot people we’ve killed
that don’t live anymore,
‘cause humans need rugs
stole from life for your floor.

Forgot people we’ve killed,
stole bodies to hosts,
injections, incisions,
laboratory ghosts.

Forgot people we’ve killed,
brought to this land,
by a glove ‘round a hand
of the human kind.

Forgot people we’ve killed,
all of the billions,
including our fish friends,
thousands of trillions.

Forgot people we’ve killed,
behind bars or in pools,
trapped in a nightmare
by self proclaimed rulers.

Heard are the reasons,
there’s garbage offshore,
floating through homes
that kill even more.

Tricked, corrupted,
dragged down to hell,
we treat as we own,
in pretend wishing wells.

Yet dreams don’t come true,
an’ reflections don’t tell,
of the wishes you wish for,
in fake wishing wells.

An’ all of history,
was just a dream,
where love grew in meadows,
an’ floated down streams.

Will soon to be told,
only in books,
if we don’t change our hearts,’ give back what we took. 


Poetry © 2022 Carl Porten

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