Two Worlds in One Home

*FFFFFFFF- I can’t write poetry. Don’t I know that already? However, this kind of idea wouldn’t sound as meaningful as a short story, so I now present it to you as a crappy poem. ;A; How do you even poem? Can this even be considered a poem? I need lots of helpful critiques, guys. Also, this is way way way way too long. And it's too serious. I was not made to write anything other than humor.

Once upon a time

in a quaint little house,

lived two brothers

whom were very close.

Separated by but a few months,

together, they shared

their little world of blunder and fun.

They grew up in one bed, one room, one house,

and all who knew them, said

“They’re inseparable at best.”

At the age of thirteen, things began to change.

The younger grew to love the technology of late.

He marveled in the complexity of artificial intelligience,

and spoke the language of computers and code.

He saw the disabled made able with machines,

and looked on as humans

discovered their place in space.

“Humans,” he said, with a face of joy,

“They’ve come so far, what more could I say?

I’m proud of my race, of all that we’ve done,

we’ve contributed to the world,

with our creativities,

and we’re still discovering,

the secrets of our being.

There isn’t a single reason

why we should go back,

rather, we should head onward

to the future of gold.”

The older shook his head at all his brother’s follies,

for he was in love with the world’s natural beauty.

he roamed outside, in the forests of green,

and watched as the sun

set over the trees.

He saw the polluted cities,

and sighed with sorrow.

“Humans,” he said, with a face of defeat,

“They’ve come so far, what more can I say?

I’m ashamed of my race, of all that we’ve done,

we’ve destroyed Mother Nature,

with our silly fantasies,

and we’ve forgotten,

what nature really means.

There’s too many reasons why we should go back,

to the simpler times,

when we still loved our own world.”

As they grew, they were given new rooms,

“Too old,” they were told,

“to be sharing one place.”

On the moving day,

they cleared their halves,

and got rid of the duct tape they had used as children

to mark their little homes.

“Well,” the younger said,

“It’s to our own rooms.

I guess that’s less argument

about where my computers go.”

“Why,” asked the older,

“Do you treasure those things?

Why not the lake, that sparkles in the sun?

Why not the night sky, with all the small stars?”

“Why look at the stars,” the younger shot back,

“when you can travel their domain?

Why our lakes,

when the lakes of other planets,

are still being found?”

“Progress is not bad,” the older relented,

“but mankind has paid too much attention

to the faraway lands,

and less and less

to Earth’s rich beauties.

I want to see my children

grow up in a world

where they can explore the endless wild,

where they can laugh with the coyotes,

and sing with the birds.

I want to see the smoky airs gone,

for humans to realize what they have done

and care for their own world

more than Mars.”

“The past is not bad,” the younger admitted,

“but I want to see my descendants grow up

in not one world,

but two, or three.

I want to see

the fruits of our labor,

of what comes

of millennia of progress.

I want to see humans

making their way

into a new age,

fighting for each step,

but prevailing in the end,

like we always have.”

The pair stared at each other,

knowing what to say,

but not how to say it.

Finally, they left

to their new rooms,

separated by a single wall,

as opposed to a line.

They sat down adjacent

to the new barrier,

looking at the foreign walls,

made of cold gray stone.

“When,” they both said,

“when did this happen?

When did we become

so different, so far?

We used to share our world with each other,

and now we can’t see eye to eye,

for reasons we already know.

We’re still so close,

it’s only become two beds, two rooms,

but still one house.

So why does it feel

like the distance is unreachable?

When did it become

two different worlds

in a single home?”