Metakairotopia---our last, great resort----
gives shelter from the outer chaos, the best port
in that worst storm if I might filch an ancient phrase:
contentment has replaced want, all our nights and days
are merry and untainted by stains of despair
as suffered---if anyone has survived---out there.
The most sophisicated of terreriums:
of all mankind's accomplishments, this sum of sums:
it stands atop this artificial mount, its peak,
the ultimate in lifestyles humans seek.
Beneath are levels---many horticultural;
and manufacturing, environment control,
and acquisitions of resources ---what is left
outside, in the abandoned world that is bereft
of its once human and once nurturing attraction.
A cybersystem (many parts and yet one whole)
provides all servile functions to our satisfaction,
gently enforcing some simple, domestic rules
that, unlike our forbears, we do not live as fools.
We put no creed in some old myths like "Shangri-la,"
or that place malcontents now speak of, "Celtica"
(wherever on this mangled planet it may be
where, they imagine life exists unsponsored, free).
We do not need that kind of cowards' fantasy;
we have instead a more pleasant reality---
our (long) lasting home, Metakairotropia.
Starward