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Holotrophic Village (poem)

By Tomas Jose Juan Ascindro Giron

The past was filled with the drumbeat and heartbeat of the Village drumming love and care,
Eons have went to bed with care and love, cradled in nightmares of injustice
The warriors of the past had a path home to that village, concentrated with heart,
Today the journey has become lonely it is lost in the war of mind and conscience,
      Where the warriors bleeds with sorrow and is discarded to the winds of indifference.

The honor of the village was the hallmark of the people, it is now drown't in pity
Empathy left yesterday, and along with it took love and care, leaving only empty minds and myopic hearts,
Hurrying into a future where they have lost the past, and in the journey they have not a map
The need to conquer nature has been invalid, rushing here and rushing there, leading to dead ends.

Yesterday's dreams were trounced by the pyper, the pineal nightmare lying guard at the gate of hope
Where the fingers became the mind and the heart became irreverent, love and care disappeared into,
The rush of tomorrows greed and lust where, nowhere was found holding-
A warriors pain and in the midst of this mindset, set on selfish denial,
      The drumbeat of villages care and love disappeared into tardiness of destiny.

The entire village was at war, it was at war to keep hiding, sleeping in a nightmare they knew was there,
The pointy sharp fingers driving the whole into a puss hole of remorse, swimming in denial,
The warriors lift's his hand and blows away his brains, the blood and muck is swept upon the conscienceness
Of the village at war to keep looking past the enter tab and into a hurried past of gross dismal neglect.

Woe to the village! The millions upon millions of dead warriors lined up in rows of honor-less discard
Are now breathing the spirituality of discontent, where love, hope and care became invisible to naked eyes,
Glued to mechanisms robbing them of humanity, hurriedly denying the hand which is holding a bullet
Of suicide, aimed at their homicidal acts of indifference, Woe to the village!

The village is now sitting upon a pillow of saturation; the mind cannot follow the reason
Doom is the bedfellow of yesterday's callous indifference, the warrior was weeping in soul,
The tears ached and choked the heart, the mind became distant, and village was forewarned
The muzzle of hope fired repeatedly, deep into the heart of mean nasty distance,
      Which, carried love, hope and care away from the drumbeat of humanity!

—Tomas Jose Juan Ascidro Giron