Ages of Man

Ages of Man

Ages of Man

And the ages of man
trickle down the fragile glass
like tears of a mother
in mourning for the child she never knew.

The self-absorbed masses
dance to rhythms of instant
gratification and toxic
fumes of unrequited fame.

In darkness, we are all beautiful.
Because it’s all about me.
Because I need to feel.
Right here. Right now.

Thus the dawning of fear
hollow tempest of the mind
like pain of a father
in mourning for the child he never met.

The love affairs between forgotten
lonely souls vanish like
smoke that stings your eyes
and burns your bloodshot heart.

In darkness we all hide.
Because it’s not about us.
Because everyone’s blind.
Today. Right now.

Oh, the moans of drunk indifferent pleasure
echo through the chambers of
a passive-aggressive wink of your
eye that is barely visible because
much of the light is gone at two a.m.

But the shadows of day
lurk beyond the crooked crags
secret steel and concrete
in mourning for this jungle age of man

In darkness, everybody sins.
Because it’s just about you.
Because you do not care.
Tomorrow you’re gone.


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