Too Late Considered

                                Road to Now Here ~ Philip Brent Harris



Complex confusing and contentious conversations may prevail,
when sundry family members to the wide world do disperse.
Traveling from home-based roots, trekking far beyond the pale.
lessons learned young may not survive from cradle to hearse.

Or lessons taught are planted deep, rooting values far too well.
When elders change their diet, cultivating growth, a hoped-for boon,.
kith and kin, craving succor lost, become confused, rebel
Rebellion cast in righteous, rigid anger calcifies all too soon.

Time’s fullness may again bring the scattered clan together.
Weddings, births, sickness, death may briefly turn the tide,
till clashing values, views collide, a lightning crash mid stormy weather,
and teach us that those we should love best, we simply can’t abide.

Child is father to the man, some ancient sages so discourse.
Yet, brutal nurture oft floods the fragile wellspring of nature.
Other father figures feed the nascent river from another source,
while mothers rue the strife seen in their children’s future.


Such guiding hands and minds, may prove feminine or masculine;
names, mere labels, signifying  traits expressed, not gender.
Sugar girls and spicy women, may stand tall with ramrod spine.
Boys and men, brawny brutes, may guard, hide a heart most-tender.

Could changing labels, names, bring change into the world,
confuse us all for long enough to change our headlong course,
encourage all thoughts, traits and feelings in every boy and girl.
Then, let them choose their role in life, arising from their source.

Or, have we marched too far toward our own demise already?
Juggling greed, fear, hate and war as we teeter on the brink.
Does no olive branch grow, that we might grasp and steady?
Or, did we step into the air, eyes closed, the briefest blink?

Perhaps the fat cats, those powerful fools, pushed us o’er the edge,
capering on the precipice, sabers raised in their brief triumph,
the chain between the rich and us too stout to catch upon a ledge,
yanks them screaming into the abyss, as they fall right behind us

Home Redux

Will our scant, remnant seed pierce the earth to grow again?
Such hubris, or are we simply a failed experiment of god?
Soon forgotten, unlamented, swept into a cosmic dust bin.
can we not slow our pace to doom, to ponder and to nod?

Who knows truly what the future offers, what promise it may hold?
Though many signs and warnings point our path toward cataclysm
Held hostage by a callous, frightened few who clutch tight their gold
Poor, embattled, pushed away each moment widening the schism

Is considered thought, a change of mind, considered much too late?
Cannot we see that mutually assured destruction leads to death?
Or, believing some god, a capital G deity, consigns us to our fate,
we’ll swear we’ve not gone too far while breathing our last breath.

Complex confusing and contentious destruction does prevail.
Since sundry humanity, to the wide world did disperse,
traveling from home-based roots, trekking far beyond the pale.
So now the few rule all unto our doom, thoughts only of their purse.


Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength,  Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment


Please, leave a comment and let me know what you think.

See more of my creative offerings and opinions at:

Brent Harris Fine Art

Philip Brent Digital Art

Vida Voices

Scriggler TPM

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