Dreams Won’t Save The World by Andy Eycott
I dream of walking
on sandy beaches every day,
sharing footprints with birds
with names like sandpiper and curlew.
Watched by sea bound gulls
who had witnessed me grow
through my childhood.
Greeted by seals trailed by their pups,
skimming the surf,
waving to me out of curiosity.
Yet my daily steps are those
of concrete and stone
the only rivers that flow
are those of endless cars
eroding through emissions
any nature that tries to survive.
This is my life, born to the city,
rather, the shadow of bright lights.
Exposed to squirrels and pigeons
and sparrows before they flew,
I remember blossoming trees
that once adorned the avenue.
I remember the hum of bees
and the magic of dragonflies
and for a week each summer
I would visit an aunt and see
ripening fields of gold
and stories would be told
of when my mother went ‘hopping.’
I remember the sadness in her eye
when telling of days gone by.
Maybe if I was born to the field
not factory, I would have fought
harder, understanding the loss,
realised the unforgiving cost.
My older generation failed me
and I realise that I have failed too.
I hear my voice telling my grandson
stories of things that once were,
seen through the eyes of my mother.