Dystopia
Here a mansion, there a metal cube,
Now a street, and now a numbered route,
Here a faith and there an attitude,
Now pajama bottoms, now a suit –
So many colors blended into white!
I watch the people pass like frantic ants
All vaguely trusting that they share a hill,
As if in some symbolic foreign dance,
Seeing no end, they yet possessed the skill.
Details un-wed by purpose flood my sight.
What shall I make of this strange unity,
Both cause and balm of modern man’s frail soul,
That drowns his need of meaning in a sea
Of diverse efforts toward an absent goal?
Copyright © Nicholas Rao | Year Posted 2014
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