[I glance over at the hyacinths]

I glance over at the hyacinths
five – each seeming to emerge
from a green-gloved hand –
still only pale pink pineapple heads

I look at the thin bulb skin –
coffee-coloured, I decide –
and I wish I could just sit
and watch – which means
I wish I could just hide…

or maybe talk about
how wondrous they are
and the delight I find
in the ring of desklamp light

but the world is going mad
and I cannot just sit
or take flight
and say nothing
about the calamities
of pseudo-science
and scriptural idolotries

texts that experts know
were frequently falsified –
political expediencies –
Euhemerized fictions
begun as propaganda
to bring a factious, rebellious
middle-eastern colony
to its knees –
greco-hebraic fantasies…
and that other insanity
again, based on
one man’s hallucinations.

Poetic incantations?
How can I indulge in
bucolic verbiage
and watch the world
ever-more mired
in superstitious garbage.

.

.for I don’t know how long now, I have felt unable to write lovely thoughts about lovely things and at last maybe I have found  a way to at least say why. These are hot-house hyacinths, their qualities shaped by human interventions, but man himself was born of chance and natural selection. To think otherwise is not a sign of stupidity, merely ignorance, an ignorance induced and supported by media (and uncombatted by a decrepit educational system) conditioning the population to believe that science and religion are somehow equivalent bearers of truth.

.

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