Orange que te quiero verde, that's Poeticah

The Visual Poetry of Poeticah explores the boundaries between poetry, languages, and traditional with computer visual art.

This is a poem from my chapbook Axtlanadu.

<<Axtlanadu>> Cathedral Stories We are testaments of fading paradigms That linger in the inertia of centuries. Though we are dwarfed by young ones, We still stand tall and tell our stories. Many marvel at ornate forms made in their own images Projecting from our rugged skin and organs. They strain their necks to see these forms on our heights, And peer through our colorful membranes. Once they strove to capture our splendor in their heads. Now they try to catch it with boxes that click. Though their shallow heads and flashing boxes never grasp it, They persist and harm us when they strike. Many once walked with care down our decorous paths. They honored us for the beliefs we project. They meditated, spoke reverently, sang soulfully, And dressed to show pride and respect. Now many tread recklessly up our proud ways. They see us as grand, ancient, curiosities. They gawk, drink greedily, speak harshly, And dress to suit their own fancies. Some bore, nurtured, and raised us with passion: Passion that glows from golden crowns and praying hands: Praying hands that rise from crying skulls surrounded by mist: Mist that breeds a rainbow of competing bands. Many, who toiled for centuries to raise us, Never lived to witness our final grandeur. Some, who now unlock their eyes and ears, Feel their pain drip over our splendor. Every day we pray for God to sing In words that fill our purple realm with sighs. These words shall carry tunes in silver keys To open all those ignorant ears and eyes. <<Axtlanadu>>