Life’s roads

Roads always go somewhere,
Like a many branched tree
Leading to tributaries of life,
Until there is only a trickle.

Faced with dark rolling clouds,
Or rays of a sun tinted sky,
Roads point in all directions,
Exist in every imaginable climate.

No matter which choice is made,
The journey of a short stroll,
A trip of a thousand days, always,
Choices lead us back to our beginning.

The value of the moment is decision,
Courage the teacher of the effort,
Living and learning from the choice,
Is the path to find our true self.

©2012, Donald Harbour

The Archangel cometh

We own you and we will take your soul. Bet on it, buy stock.

Poets are a dime a dozen, I
cost only a penny on the cheap.
Bilbo Baggins and Robert Frost
each a copper of time pasted
upon the digital landscape of
the Internet. No written pages,
only ones and zeros defining,
recording genius, talent, moronic
diatribes, the succubus of intellect.
The decay of society in the cloud
of tomorrow. Is that your ultimate
destination, bucolic acceptance?
At what point will the reason
of the word be given over to
the Machiavellian manipulators
You sheep, you followers, naysayers,
you destroyers, you that sleep
with Eden’s snake of technology,
will kill your children, welcoming
the Archangel of Destruction,
without ever knowing you are
no longer members of humanity?

©2012, Donald Harbour