A Private Eden 2350

 
 
I am the product
of the new monasticism,
a test tube child
of same sex parents
from one of many private Eden's.
 
They chose isolation
on a parcel of undesirable land
to create an ecology,
a dome world ecosystem,
carefully controlled
and dedicated to achieve
their niche in Paradise.
 
They taught me the history
of the ruined world beyond,
no more than an abstraction
in my sheltered life.
 
Since their deaths,
I've created alternating configurations,
a plentitude of enigmatic life forms.
I've generated an experience
purely instinctual,
as an artist like Rousseau
must have felt in his attempts 
to pull a third dimension from the canvas.
 
It is a micro-world of wonder,
un-amenable to words of any kind
where all solidifies, disappears, reforms,
a continuum of colored mists,
an ephemeral ecosystem
in constant change:
 
winged lizards dissolve
to reform again as blackbirds
in the blue eyed grass.
                                                                                                
Oleander pods dehisce
and from them pour a myriad
of rainbowed mollusks.
Sunset may be any time,
or moonrise follow dawn.
 
My Eden would cajole the eyes
of yet another age to come.
My creations are my purpose.
There's no better life                
beyond this dome.
I should desire no more.
 
I am a child of the True Faith.
Yet my belief falters, for I know
there will be no future generations here.
 
I'm not an immortal. 
I'm prisoner in a dome, 
creator of a wasted masterpiece
that none will ever know.
 
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