Aloha Reborn Notes
There was a special place,
filled with love, thriving without money,
The people from the ocean brought fish
up to the people of the mountains
who harvested plants and brought them to the shore
Where some special travelers landed,
In time to
Witness this culture quietly dissappearing,
By
missionaries,
techno-farming,
dollar iz all deals,
and car wheels,
and no more queen.
This people with the answers to life
a shining star passing from life,
Enter these well trained observers
Who
Recognized the great loss of this great Race,
Devoted life and love,
And set about to document and record,
In Solemn respect,
the stories and the ways
etched by their brilliance
of the Supernova of their fall,
into their thoughts.
Generations pass.
Pavement is laid upon pavement.
every square inch is claimed,
hi rises tower, hoping to catch a glimpse of a rainbow, or
feel an ocean breeze.
A few trinkets of the old ways can be
found in souvenir shops. The native dances
continue, a nice side show after dinner,
businesses give preference in hiring,
for the native. The childrens childrens children
find themselves with this niche in the foriegner's culture,
otherwise lost.
who's writings,
with such detail and respect,
echoed generations into the future
to reach the children, and children's children,
of this great people,
who walked Lost in somebody else's culture, who's place for this great people are
some quaint decorations for
a dinner and a show.
that one morning woke up and
found it had paved and trimmed and
trashed so much that
it found living wanting
lacking something,
leaving them empty somehow
despite chronic obesity
A culture that when their own began to crash and
burn a century into their future, would come back to save the world.
We were trimmed
into quaint decorations
Those among our conquerers
who arrived to catalogue, dissect, analyze,
were instead moved by sacred respect
witnessing the supernova of our fall
our stories, our ways, our Aloha
Etched into their lives,
made it their lives
to make our echoes
into the future
Arriving in a crashing,
burning, rabid world
Our whispers from the past
give salvation
to those who can listen
poem by Richardo Posto
Added by Poetry Lover
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