Are we near the end,
or is there more
story still?
Can’t peek ahead.
Don’t know how many pages
have been written.
Is this it?
The height of our crescendo,
before we’re winding down?
Resolving ourselves
back into the figments
of history?
Wound up
and ground down.
Our kind has never
taken well
to thinking
any bigger than we are.
We used to imagine things,
visions of grandeur
and chase them skyward.
Now,
it seems
we have been tricked
and manipulated
into believing
artificial dreams
are a suitable replacement
for the real thing.
Is this an intrusion?
Some other reality
stepping into our
vast universe?
Is it our evolution
that robbed us of our
ecstatic visions?
Have we been stolen away,
reprogrammed
by the algorithm?
I only ask,
because we don’t seem the same.
The curious spark
in the eye dies
and we’re merely satisfied.
I remember hearing stories
of how we used to hunger.
how we used to wonder
and explore,
but we don’t go anymore.
We sit and wait to die.
We used to wish upon the universe,
now we hope
to be merely satisfied.
So sad
to watch our current decline.
An incorrigible race
tamed in time.
Can we ever be
free again,
or are we at the end?
HG – 2022
