—John Anstie
One hundred thousand Poets for change, so many voices and carefully chosen words, seem to be decaying into the void of the anechoic chamber. Earthly Fathers praying for the Establishment, that sets the stage and casts its values in concrete, steel, plastic…and carbon. Leaders of the World, whose balance sheets and rational, numerate intellect measure only a notion of success. What is that? What is success? For aren't we just that, a wealth of rich and creative intelligence that is the only hope for our universe to understand itself? Heavenly Mothers ask us why digitise and monetise and worship at the alter of the great god, Thworg, when we are in the face of richness beyond measure. Escape to the stars, if you must, but answers will be found, not in the vanity of space-time travel, but here, with unaided vision they lie in the green and blue, right before your disbelieving eyes. Permit your heart to rule even if only one day a week, when the visceral, and the common sense can overrule logic and intellect, and that subliminal noise in our head will slowly awaken the conscience. Maybe, one day we'll be Seven Thousand Million Poets for Change! Our time will come. Greatness beckons. It's in the wind, this beating heart, a movement beyond the gaze of mortals…
©2020 John Anstie
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