THE TIME OF MAN

THE TIME OF MAN.

Wandering, aimless, blameless but blind
Searching for something you’ll never find
A wanderer, a squanderer of time...
A nomad, placeless, faceless,
Just like the rest. Eyes firmly set
On what you can get from today.
Ignoring the voices in your head
Carping, “What about tomorrow?”
Harping, “Consider the past.”
Is it the end? Has the dice been cast?
Seeing the world through tainted eyes
Seeing only self and ignoring the cries
Of those who follow not aware of how hollow
The future can be, will be
If we continue to sail on this sea of ignorance
Ignoring the consequence of wearing blinkers
At the same time dismissing the thinkers
As nothing more than an irritation
Selfishly consumed with our own situation,
And missing the facts.
Heed the warning.
On the morning of our judgement
We will be held responsible for our acts.
And the past will roar, return and bite us in the arse
So ponder on this farce we call progress
As the earth burns and we finally learn
Too late, the error of our ways.
Be assured fate will show its hand.
When the only food left is in cans
And the only tools we have is hands
Soft and plump
So is this how it ends?
Without hope,
Without friends,
Sealed in a can
This time of man.

© By: - Pete Slater.

Poetry.

◄ PILGRIMAGE

LEARNING TO DANCE ►

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