Here in the fog
we are all ghosts.
We are islands,
tied and bereft of others.
Reach out your hands,
reach out with your mind
and now we’re all just
running blind.
When we find each other
we collide.
Where has the Sun gone?
It used to burn free our vision;
now we survive
by disguise and by attrition.
More displaced
from sense of home
and hearts so stricken.
Even sounds are dull,
the fog begins to thicken
and we lose each other.
These are the days,
this is the age
of madmen.
It seems the time has come again
to beat the plow.
We thought that we had bought
some peace with our generations,
but our future sees the Taxman
coming now.
We used to be so proud.
Our first mistake
must have been
hitting the ground running,
heading full speed
into something
fists full of nothing.
Thought our credit was good,
platinum status.
We thought we had this one in the bag,
but that was just avarice.
There’s that big, red button
for pushing,
that sets the sky on fire.
Gonna warm up the globe,
let’s see who’ll be a denier.
We’re naked under our clothes,
but that don’t matter where we’re gonna go.
The fog will all be burned away.
I’m sure we’re gonna see clearly
in the split second
before the blast wave
and then it all isn’t gonna matter
anyway.
Don’t be afraid,
it won’t be today.
Good things only come
to those who wait.
I bet you’re going to wish
you’d reached out more.
I’ll bet you listened
to the whispers at the door,
when it’s all gone
and everything is ashes and silence;
our vision restored
in time to find
we’ve been allied
with genocide
and seen the end of war.
In the clear light of day,
we will all be ghosts.
HG – 2017
