Apples,

Would the world be warming,

Or glaciers still forming,

If we still walked and talked face to face?

Would we have more space,

To look and think, to think and look, to read a book?

More room in our brain to admire the rain, and to feel its arrival in our bones instead of using phones, to call our closest child who lives a thousand miles away.

“What’s the weather?” You say.

Why not look at a feather blowing, feel the way the air is slowing instead of clicking on the box?

Oh hell, even clocks—look at the sun—high, in the sky? On the run? One? or melting, slowly down, into the ground? Its work day done?

No longer natural, pure or innate.

Machines give us more time to waste or appreciate.

Did it fill us with hate?

Or did it create,

A void?

An army of androids,

Sitting and drooling—no longer fueling our body—our minds our earth—mankind,

Be man, be kind.

Lay in the grass—smile at those who pass you on the street and meet—not at the keys—at the park, if you please—under whispering trees who tell of not only rot and decay but of endless new days and engage you in a warm embrace.

Dear human race,

It’s a journey—not a race,

Slow down your pace,

Sense this place.

Stop the waste of time and space.

Breathe.

 

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Author: Lucy Novario

Assistant Editor: Kathryn Muyskens / Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Wikimedia Commons