The Wakening

The world spins kaleidoscopic, a whorl of color in revolt. Oceans quake malleable, molding into fissures of tectonic hunger, ravaging the deep, stirring the primal need depressing populations’ unseen to the denizens of land, disregarded in man’s wake. From the diatom, to the whale, from the single cell to the open hand from the sun, to the stars, to the mushroom bomb, we’ve light. Within the orb of eye, retinal flares of light, an inside-out, upside-down, yin and yang revolution juxtaposing wealth with poverty, as throngs rise asking for hand outs, aching with a human need to know, hungering. Childhood has ended, the tell-tale snake does wake. Death’s rattle will subside, as the head eats the tail of depression. Communication will become the global antidepressant. Natives in aboriginal huts and Inuit in igloos will see the light. There will be no holding back the tide for hand in hand, each cell wakes. No longer can knowledge be withheld. “Phone home,” a revolutionary cry, the tit will not be ripped from the lips of hungering humanity, the tyrant and the saint juxtaposed, their time at hand. Instant communication, shall scrape the barnacles of blight handily. The stroke of finger tip to key shall depress and ignorance will flee, freeing the hungry for the way out ,the way up, the key, light-heartedly heads bowed in prayer, we shall revolt. Let tyranny be eaten, and righteousness wake. On the egg of earth, we float in celestial wakes. Solar tides stir the shards of glass raising death’s hand. Round and round the top spins each revolution forced by the pumping thump of rods depressed rods magnetized and charged with lightening for we all hunger. Each evolution a revolution, each thirst quenched brings new hunger. Repression will never depress the desire to wake, nor, will the fisted hand ever bring the light.