Anthropocene

Let me set the scene; The anthropocene. 

In each of us there are cascades of flowing rivers giving birth to the flowers of the mind. In the corpulent soil we nurture the seeds of our memories, experiences; life as we know it. 

From juvenile buds, we turn to the sun for clarity and wisdom to finally open our petals and expose our core, luciously bathing in the fresh dew drops of spring. Prying our buds open is a painful and tedial task, as every metamorphosis requires a sacrifice of who we are, and who we were. It cannot be charmed with kindness and mellifluent vocabulary, with honey and milk or water and wine. 

As the whips of existence shape us into diverse floral fields, eternity seems to hover in the air as a thin layer of fog, gallantly glimmering in the rays of sunlight. But the thick and ominous tides of time comes to reap what it once has sown; for beauty is given, not earned. 

In the anthopocene, buds refuse to wither in a silent whimper. We've become the Amazon, we are the Ivory Coast, Sahara and Rocky Mountains. We've become The Igacu Falls, Aurora Borealis and Yosemite Park. We are children of the earth, but we became owners of the universe.

As we wither, all else withers with us. As we burn, all else burns with us. And as we disappear, all else disappears with us. The twilight ecplise of the anthopocene casts darkness on what once was,

And sheds light on what is to come.