The problem is:
how to be good and have everything,
how to do well without being bad about it,
how to have your cake and eat it all.
The problem is:
growing up with all those nifty nice,
smooth and sweet, industrialised
creature comforts
And then realise, a bit too late maybe
that to make them so nice
at such a great price
very many that live and breathe and grow
in spaces far away from your own
are brought verily verily terribly low
all the way to the borders
of those awful terms: pollution,  extinction
all out destruction.
And yet you were told,
over and over and oh so bold,
You, yes, you: you are the good one.
*
The problem is:Â what do you do
now that you’ve gotten used to
those comforts that are just too good
and you need them too, to survive, stay alive,
up to date and in time
in this superfast, new and improved
digital age of ultracool
where the phones are smart
and the tablets tools
where cats go viral
and ignoring that may brand you a fool
in the race to be first, to be in the know
of everything at work, at home, in school,
in the world…
For this planet that is Home
our home, no other
just one, you hear, just one
Our planet is now so connected
the globe seems like a crowded ball
full of people shouting, tweeting
trying, spying, lying
through their virtual teeth
simply to stay connected
and not fall off the face of the earth
deep down into has-been’s, where-are-they-now’s,
and what-happened-to’s,
that dreaded place:Â ‘I don’t know’,
that awful place:Â ‘Who?’
For We, the creatures, we cannot stand our own discomfort,
that tiny little feeling
that something’s not quite right
somewhere, somehow…
No, We, the creatures, we create our comfort
by telling, typing, filming, sharing
to make sure someone is there
to prove yes, you, you are real
there is nothing to worry about
move along here
and yes, we like you
see the numbers, it’s all there
it’s not a dream, it’s all true:
you really are the good one,
you, yes, you, and you too.
*
So, what to do now, now,
yes right now
before the sun grows dark in our eyes
before those infamous four riders
come bounding down
announcing, business like,
that it is time, it is time
for several plagues, lots of fire, unprecedented disaster,
that will all happen to you and you and you
and all the me’s existing, all the good ones too.
For the Riders don’t care about clicks and tweets
anything virtual, in the air
Once they arrive
it’s dislike time,
and it’ll keep persisting
no matter how others may keep on insisting
that it’s all lies lies lies!
The Four really don’t care
standing at the sidelines
in their fine suits and silk ties
reading through the script, announcing how
the winds will burn, the skies will fall
and the earth will burst like water
at half past two, precisely
only *breaking news*: it will be hottest, hottest lava
Not water at all
that, my dear viewers, will be very much gone.
And when the seas rise and the lands fall
from their civilised heights
We’ll be Back to Nature all right
And know it as it was once known
as what we, the creatures, live and breath and walk on
the real Mother of All.
The problem is:
that all this bother will happen
just when you sat down to drink that latte
and listen to another hand-played, over-made
hyperlinked song.
© 2014 threegoodwords
three good words 