Cultural artifacts were the mementos we held on to
but then discarded the events that heralded the arrival;
pieces of a great puzzle that we dissipated without need
wishing with late regret our truth was final.
Instead we punished those who warned us of our greed
when we could have been freed by breaking through.
Billions of pieces now lay dormant broken right in two;
angular on the ground floor and the doormat reed,
waiting on someone else to step on us but just to make them bleed
without care or regard whether we stayed the same or broke anew.
A syllable or two of truth has served us as the clue
while under seas of sweat and blood have been the seeds
motioning us to stop the flood and the stampede of death
to make way for the Eden of lotuses that grew instead.
Camelia Comets 