Today is the last of the ‘olden days’
As we approach the unusual new
No longer will time reside on our side
As major developments ensue
The players of games are too busy
To notice how changes are made
Giving in to the chants and the din
Not getting how well they’ve been played
Everything’s well under control
Imagination ran out of new dreams
Policy police are screaming for peace
Giving way to the nanobot schemes
As the light receded
Even silence had no sound
The people standing faded
Evaporated and unwound
The journey took a lifetime
In a second it was gone
There was nothing left but eulogies
From a well-remembered song
No need to leave together
Every story was their own
Personal tales already fading
As those moments turned to stone
Trailing tracing things I think
At speeds subject to pressure
Jumbled up or clear as day
Though difficult to measure
Transparency is a lonely place
Self-proclaiming crystal clear
Packed in a box of possibilities
Often random they appear
Exercised or exorcised
Not always Common sense
Until a word or phrase turns up
Allows its essence to condense
One-sidedness and prejudice
Bring nothing but dissent
irrespective of a point of view
There is nothing there well meant
The need to impose misery
And pull the plug on cheery smiles
An empty twinkle-eyed apology
for a jangled chain of trials
Every laboured step along the way
Another septic rusty nail
To disregard all group encouragement
In a howl and anguished wail
Special are the stories told
Prosaic snapshots of back then
Though changes have rewritten them
In places never seen again
Photographs requiring aspects
Before and after ‘left of field’
Hidden causes frozen pauses
So much detail blocked concealed
Participants can say much more
But only partially recall
As when telling cannot tell it all
Within a story short or tall
Here we go again I’ve got no words
Nothing but a vacant stare
I’d like to write a decent rhyme
But so far nothing’s there
Writer’s block has got me chopped
Like It has guillotined my head
Words spill out in bloodless drips
Become a basket case instead
Still, there’s reason in this rhyme I think
If you read it twice or thrice
It’s what one gets when one’s beheaded
When one kneels down for the splice
In the in-between of changes
Where signs are hard to read
No one knows the full extent
On the banishment of need
The needs once drove economies
In search of billionaire progress
Fixing prices of those slick devices
Building mountains of excess
Bulging crammed with vulgar wealth
Until that damming phase
When wealth no longer satisfied
Had needs to share and reappraise
