I sing the TV prophetic

Lights sound action

And the world heaves and groans

Its ancient gears left rusty by time

Its keepers no longer oil the deep cogs

With thought and philosophy

No.

We sing in unison at our blind and deaf men

They posture and prance

And make grand gestures and fragile promises

While the women and children weep and suffer in the home

Our men.

The great plague upon the earth

The answerless problem

The only thing stopping humanity

from stepping out of the animal kingdom

and into the light beyond

we who stand here

on our soapboxes

we who speak and believe

we are the last humans

we are the last ones to fall to the lie

the lie that is mankind

we stare into the blank and rheumy eyes

the cold unfeeling eyes of reality

and we do not blink

while the whole of mankind turns to falsehood

and simulations

small and easy substitutes for real life

we retreat not, into the caves of common thought

we stand

like the great philosophers of old

now so dormant and antiquated in men today

we are human

and we are a dying breed

us writers

those who look

and do not blink

the watchers

we will see the fall of mankind

You who hear me

Believe these words to be

Nothing more than words

But the game has been played

And the end is always included in the rules

I do not know where our vision stops

And our dreams begin

Where our poetry ends

And our soul steals the type

That place, where poetry meets

Thought and where thought becomes a palpable thing

That is our testament

If all that is left is papers

Old poetry

Blowing in the wind

Then I will be content