Dusk of Man

beneath modernization‘s impenetrable boot,
gets smeared across the pavement,
trickles down the drain,
to rot
in this culture’s sterile bowels.

angelic voices
grow utterly still.

when we bend our knees,
crusading thoughts turn robotic;
so we shall fill the ranks
of this undead army,

and words will sing no more.

photo credits: richard-chen.com


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