Reunite Pangea


It seems when one thing shatters, all dissolve.

At dawn, a dandelion bursts, stardust sprinkles the lawn

and all day long seeds are planted, sprouts of despair

ruining the perfect semblance of suburbia.


In the morning, bombs burst around the globe

and the world reels.  But this is not the swift passing

of a novelty act, the quick shudder of a mime.

No, this is the slow disintegration of time.


Gaia stands on the edge of Chaos, her shoulders broad,

her head held proud beneath her son, the starlit sky,

nothing more than a mote in the eye of the universe,

a fragile speck on the farthest strand of the Milky Way.


Yet from where we stand, she is all, alpha, omega.

She lies with her child and bears the oceans, ripping apart

Pangea, the lost art of togetherness.  She births thunder,

brings forth lightening, sets the titans spinning

like waterborne tops. Fertile though she is,

she canít stop and excess always leads to decay.


From adamantine, she carves a scythe

to castrate her willful child for the betrayal of brotherhood.

Must history always be replicated, unfolding like a wave

pounding the shore?  Itís the old, old story,

Cronos destroys Uranus, then dies via Zeus.

Brother against brother, father against son,

the same sad song playing in the background

until the end has come Ė Give me the power,

This is my hour, this is my time now, I am due.


Let it go, Gaia.  Let your children grow free,

let vengeance blow away like a childís bright balloon. 

Geologists laugh.  They draw maps of the way it was,

a giant united land, one continent, one earth, one rein of sand.

Reunite Pangea, Gaia.  If the mothers withdraw the mÍlťe is done,

Make this the new battle cry.   Reunite Pangea.

Let the rivers run.  Give your men new powers.   

Let war be nothing but mythology, a simple scholarís boon.

Remember all you have is also ours to ruin.

French kiss the sun.  Wipe your tears on the moon.