Struggle XVIII

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Tomorrow is an unknown,
But my mind sees smoke
Billowing from a sphere
Of rage and vitriol.
We won’t take time for
Reflection, concerned
Only with the inconsequential.
We’ll start fires we can’t
Extinguish and laugh
At those burned by the flames,
Losing the last ounces
Of humanity,
Going back the way
Of the warring chimpanzee
That hoots and hollers
At the death of a rival tribe.
We’ll take more pictures
Of our faces against backdrops
Of burning cities and see
How many likes we can get
Because likes will be our
Worshipped currency.
Our neighbor on the street,
Bleeding out into the gutter,
Will be largely ignored
Because they held the wrong
Thoughts and had the audacity
To share them.
Our leaders will care
Only for their dedicated
Team of voters,
But for the others-
Prison sentences,
Frozen bank accounts,
And lawsuits to drain them.
But the new coliseums
Will keep the hypnotized
Glued to seats,
Helplessly complacent
In a sluggish haze.

Occasionally, I’m told
I’m too pessimistic.
Perhaps.
But I’m all too aware
That the world will only
Get much worse before
It gets better,
And bread and circuses
Will make the world
Forget.