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Waste

Each one of us is a wanderer on the same earth,
the same sky covers all and each of us.
If our decadent lights went out tomorrow
the soil and the trees would still be there.
Slowly the jungles would sigh and advance
the deserts yawn and stretch themselves.
the stones will still exist, the seas remain,
after the clamouring world seeks it’s destruction.
Blindly the race descends into the caves,
the shimmering fallacy of the world remade,
the flashing lure of an intangible dream
leads on the troglodytes to dreadful doom,
and all returns to it’s beginnings.