Trending shopworn rumors of decline
all that thrives within this tethering
gray, seeding serpentine vines of invasive
decay, threaded through veins of
a retiring mind, curling
outward from glassed eyes embracingly
blind. I have begged you
again, once more and again
tell me where we are, friend
in this slagheap of men that suck this hard
husk of Earth, like it still has its milk, like
we might yet arise, like
a wet stalk aspiring of marmalade skies
of carcinogen sun, attaining that heaven
so carelessly promised? Instead, just
this voice, lost in tired dusty, songs
their melodies done, oh
run, you fools, run!
<Post likes lost from original blogsite>
Comments
That last line tied it together nicely. Gandalf would be proud!