This is a poem I wrote after a recent experience. This and the last poem certainly have a dark outlook, which is not how I always feel, but these two occasions served to remind me of the times we’re living in.
I feel abject sadness thinking of these days
These days where men are merely counting their days
These days where meaning has been sold off
Sold out to the highest bidder to live more well off
People with no passion with nothing they stand for
A group of young men with nothing they long for
Empty towns, empty places, empty spaces and empty faces
Lust replaced by tamed exchanges
Love letters written with empty pages
Hope has become a familiar stranger
Hollow houses, hollow un-homes
Flat-box living rooms and flat-box lives
Is it any wonder we have no care who survives
Distant glances, antiseptic handshakes
There’s nothing here, it’s all empty and fake
Private number plate, tattooed sleeve
Meanwhile the world around us reels and grieves
All I need is a new car and the latest fashion
Passion, what passion? What is passion?
Meaning, what meaning? What is meaning?