By Michael Theroux

In our food, in our bodies
our clothes, our buildings
in the Air, Water, Earth
all come from the Fire

We unmake our home
and make the Machine
and making, create
this deadly residue

Splinters so fine
no needle will serve
in competent hands
to come to the rescue

What have we done
we’ve planted a seed
so very deep inside
magic beans, indeed

To the last grain
I’ll sift the sands 
and chase the curse
Blessings of our Age

For given the gold
we have bought pain
and carry, each
our body burdens

These are the teeth
and claws of the Beast
that which we ride
has turned upon us

To the last grain
sifting through our hands
winnow the balm of life
from the carnage of living

Michael Theroux writes incessantly from his cubby hole home office in Northern California. His career has spanned field botanist, environmental health specialist, green energy developer and resource recovery web blog editor. Although a great many works have been formally and/or self-published, almost all have been scientific and technical works. Michael is now seeking publication of his cache of art writings, including two fantasy books and around 400 individual short stories and poems.

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