I can hear the voices as they
whisper in meadow grasses
and murmur among forest
boughs older than lore,
their song is a lament of futures
foretold where two legs replace four
and the old voices are drowned
out by clamor and chatter.
I hear them restless upon the shore,
skittering with the gulls on the sand
raised in a roar amidst the ceaseless
beat of the sea against the beach,
a barrage of anger and protest
against the onslaught of progress
and change, a sardonic sigh
accompanies the retreat of every wave.
They are the same voices I hear
echoing from the broken plaster
and rust of forgotten buildings
and overgrown playgrounds,
yearning for a time history ignores
when the energy of commerce
made for vibrant lives and the laughter
of children lit up the night.