The Scheme

The Scheme

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Gone is the ear splitting quiet that did enthrall

And corrupted by

Angry voices on lifting breezes—

Deer in the woods loudly sneezes—

Jazz fusion from late sixties.

Country, exurbia, bows to suburban crawl

Offending my eye

With noises cities exude—

Electrical hum so rude—

Famished fauna search for food.

Embrace power outage; the forced silence it brings

Appreciate those

Whispers floating down the street—

Bird glides at a bite to eat—

Rocking chair with tea and treat.

Generator spits and interrupts everything

Salutes life we chose

Light pollution pours like rain—

Fidgety squirrel bolts insane—

Lost the life I sought to gain.

My future’s unwritten, and when I sleep, I dream

Of our conveniences bowing to nature’s scheme.

By Rick Bylina

4/27/16