The Simple Word Poetry

I was born in the wrong era and it becomes obvious as my walk devolves into feelings of frustration, disgust, misery and mystery. The streets are littered with the discards of a wasteful and all-consuming civilization without conscience or care for community. Animals meticulously clean themselves while our slovenly domesticated inhabitants bask in filth. I walk past an adjacent building proudly displaying its date of birth, 1890, on its stone façade. My thoughts wander in admiration. The changes this place has "witnessed" over the past 132 years is multitudinous. Oh, to be a sprinkle of dust blowing effortlessly down a dirt road; a bird perched high in one of the many long-forgotten trees; a pedestrian sitting on his porch listening to the gallop of horse hooves and the conversation of the moment. Men and women remained in touch with nature’s calls and sounds. Oh, the glory of blissful silence; of a time devoid of automobiles, coarse human vulgarities and bitter intercourse.

Standing by the lake’s narrow, grassy shoreline the winds push the rippling waves toward me, as if, sending a lonely child home to its loved ones open arms. The tide stops at my feet, content, then disburses to the left and right, for the waters pay no mind to impediments in its way. I glimpse a solitary turtle peek its head above the water’s surface. It takes a brief breath and scans its surroundings before submerging itself and swimming on. It’s amazing how much swifter the turtle moves while under water, safe from dangerous human beings and our obnoxious mechanical inventions, than on all fours. Pine and oak, grasses and plants flutter in the breeze. The warm sun overhead glistens and sparkles in the wake. I spot three ducks drifting by. Dunking their beaks into the depths in search of a quick meal, they float effortlessly over the inbound waves, seemingly undisturbed by the crazed dashing and splashing of gas-guzzling wave runners interrupting nature’s solitude and sublimity. The p