I Wonder What it Was Like

In an open field
as the sunrise comes;
this is as complicated
as life needs to be.
Somewhere along the way
we put up a nation
and blocked out our view,
so now the sunrise is lonely
and cries, but her tears
are just glares on a screen.
How quiet it must have been,
so much we must have heard;
I wonder what it was like.
I wonder what it was like back then.

Music was made one time
with hands and holy voice,
and in the spaces in between
were faces facing up.
Food was as good as the kill,
and water more fresh than the well.
Somewhere along the way
we dug through the dirt
in search of our screens
bored of the life that surrounds.
How open it must have been,
so much we must have seen;
I wonder what it was like.
I wonder what it was like back then.

Caravaggio, Amadeus,
Shakespeare, Tolkien;
who betrayed us?
Farnsworth, Franklin,
Jobs, Benz, Bell;
in lieu of views came citadels.

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