Castle in the Sky

An antiwar poem.

Walking among our ruins,
     years in the future —
time is but an endless tape loop 
     anyway.

We see our technology,
     advanced,
     efficient,
     misguided.

In these ruins lies our art —
our sculptures, 
     the latest aircraft carriers,
our paint, 
     missiles, 
     capable of only producing 
          monochrome blood-red,
our galleries, 
     military bases,
     with permanent exhibits of
          our wonderous weapons.

A robot caretaker roams 
     these forgotten ruins —
perfectly places a flower on the grave
     of the last human custodian.
Solemnly pausing, 
     in quiet reflection,
so gracefully, 
     respectfully, 
     a child would imitate 
          this admirable behavior.

But the endless tape wears thin,
     each play sheds a bit of rust —
even the futuristic robot struggles
     to listen to the peaceful hymns 
     once passionately recorded.

Hearing your tepid footsteps,
     the robot relieved, 
     hands you the tape,
in the ruins,
and it rests, 
     powers down, 
     on the grave.

Examining the cassette, 
     you pause —
thankful the relentless robot 
     did not resit.
With a careless toss,
     the tape bounces on the grave,
scattering the flawless flowers.

Kneeling, 
     with steady hands,
you cut the war circuits 
     from the spent guardian,
as the flowers wilt,
     bent over,
     and vomit their petals 
          on the grave.

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This poem is inspired by the film Castle in the Sky, 1986, directed by Hayao Miyazaki.