When the tortured silence
Is heard again,
After the bombast
Of man’s mechanised dream
Lies dumb – rusting, rotting –
Blown about
In the devil-dust wind
Only the rhythmic hum
Of the struggling organism
Will still be making music –
Ravaged, faltering notes
Striving for harmonies.
Then wounded, traumatised man
Will curse his ancestors,
Outlaw any hint of lost, Atlantian power,
Worship every uncertain element
Displayed by nature,
Project his every fear
Onto all that sings of something higher,
Deeper, transcendent, omnipresent –
Until the weeping, dribbling spring
Begins to rise again
Cleansing the toxins
From land and mind.
Then earth, fire, air and water
Flora and fauna
Will reach out again in friendship
Bidding the survivors
To join the healing dance,
Lead them again
In concert.