Flowers From Antarctica

We’re lost in a world we once belonged

as the world heats up slowly on,

with we, as victims of ourselves.

Bones can be xylophones, or lashed together ladders rungs

which we can climb  above ourselves.

Petroglyphs and monuments

will tell us of the past,

tall cliffs of skyscrapers

will tell of how we lived and worked.

New mystics will rise from the fires,

new souls will find God in what’s left.

In a garden in Antarctica

we’ll find an enchanted garden with

fruit trees wafting with sweet exotic flowers.

We’ll eat the produce of the land,  hand and hand,

with a sense of Déjà vu,

with a sense of something new.