Another Random Thing

Another random poem:

Consumed

by S. E. Vidrio

PART I: THE AMERICAN CATHEDRAL

Our ancestors long dead once built temples to the gods,
As if a man could build a place for god to dwell.
As if with brick & stone & wood in gilding richly shod,
They'd pull a slice of Heaven down to our earthly Hell.

Some built the lofty pyramids
Reaching to the sky
So that one day the gods amidst
They too would hopef'ly fly

Around the world at every time in cultures near & far
Monuments rose at mighty whims to be & act as shrines
So what today do we impose as our eternal lines?

Tis true, we have our monuments of men & things long past
But other things within our deeds we treat with more respect.
For though our icons be of stone--twill many things outlast,
They often by the wayside go & fall into neglect.

& where is it the masses go, to pay their homage dues?
To outlets & to superstores wherein the merchandise
Lies neatly stacked on racks & shelves set up like rows of pews
'Mongst which shoppers pick the wares they want or think are nice.

To excess things are wont to go--to Gothic & Baroque
Cathedrals to the commerce god we built & called them "malls"
& for a time success' tide upheld the glorious halls

But that's the thing with flashy stuff--in economies or pans
Too often "snap" & then it's gone as quick as it began.

PART II: THE DEATH OF HERMES

Excess is disgusting, in all its shameless waste

Of land & lives & most of all

Potential smashed to paste

Of the murder of what might've been

& of course the death of taste.

So hearing news of closing malls, in principle delights

Enlivening the prospect that we will choose what's right

& drink no more of Mercury as he fades into the night

But then I see the shuttered stores & gaze upon the husk

Of what was once the beating heart of many a town's workforce

I see the empty hallways lit by skylights lit by dusk

Where solely one's feet echo as one wanders in one's course

In every shop, a livelihood--some many, sometimes few

& as I walk these empty halls my thoughts now turn to you:

To kill the false god Hermes, did we have to kill you too?

We deified your enterprise until we woke to see

That though, in person, you were well--indeed, perhaps, at best--

A horrid idol we had raised & thus we had to flee

Not by our choice but by the flow our worship had un-wrest

Is was not that we wanted to: it was we could not stand

'Gainst forces that opposed our will, to correct this wayward land

& in the cleansing stagnant tide we settled like the sand.

The memories we made with you were often filled with joy

Of afternoons in freedom spent wandering your halls

Or some dinner & a movie with some new girl or boy

So can't we just correct them? Redeem somehow the malls?

Around the world at every time in cultures near & far

Monuments rose to magnify what cultures valued most.

So what today do we impose at our eternal cost?

Around the world at every time in cultures near & far

Pagan shrines to horrid lies still joy brought to their friends.

But is this feeling worth the means to justify our ends?

(This poem inspired by my friend sending me pictures of an abandoned mall near him.)