New Age Of Wilting Poem by Paul Fisher

The man writes with surprise
Born of another man whose demise was nigh
Like the old baby bird, decrepit yet wild
Like dreams of the new age of imagination
The old, two score underscored with frustration
Bore from the ears of the father
And the eyes of the mother, two halves now whole
Like the moon. It doesn’t look right unless fully in bloom
Half an octave higher than life and the ultimate doom
Brought about by the hounds at bay
Feeding for food, slithering on the underside
Where two men once fought for peace
During the eclipse of commonsense
we fought the wars to appease the deities
Although it never seemed enough
No need to try, we are only a drop
And they the bucket
Come to haul us to the earth
Come to feed us to the o so beautiful
The flowers are wilting
They need a new essence, a new life
So give your soul to the earth and your breath to the sky