The Reckoning.

Silence is golden, but the hour as the sun sets and the world
Waits for dark to cast its velvet blanket over all is silver,
And the gossamer threads of fading daylight sparkle
Iridescently in the evening light. The trees become
As shadows, ephemeral and shape-shifting, waving
Lazy leaves to welcome moths that moonlight
Spotlights, and slowly leeching the colour from
The dying day.
And then the night is nigh, velvet blue and star-studded
With diamonds of memory, pearls of times that are past
Now, and that cannot come again.
The world lies, quiescent and torpid, spinning
In space, and waiting for another cycle to complete
And once again be bathed in sun.
Gold, silver, maybe, but the reality is the green of
Copper, and the burnished gleam of bronze.
The reality is cloud-brushed air, and rain-dropped
Water, massing on the parched earth.
Mercury, lead, and the waste from making power
To feed the greed of man,
These are the legacies we leave to our children and grandchildren.
There will then be no silver and gold.

© 2ndwitch, 29/10/14

(My thanks to Steve Tilston, whose amazing song of baby boomer guilt, 'The Reckoning', was the trigger for this poem. See http://www.stevetilston.com )