Sick Times

With hearts closed, And arts wide opened; They looked on- As a soul gradually turned off Again, The misset sat; On that road of this and that Indeed, its a system of maladies These times are ill With thoughts paralysed, By the hits from selfie sticks A soul laid dying Fingers kept clicking; As pictures of thick betise, Dangled on the walls of truth Gosh! These times are harebrained With enough strength from negligence, The flower finally withered; For every click, Made her demise silky Again, Another gain is gone; Lost to the clutches of harum-scarum Alas! These times are pallid With nude values, These times cough out this and that; As our morals stay sneezing Will and zeal are left shrinking Interests remain broken And wiseness still stuck in ice, For probably, these times are cold We used to care to care And dare to share; When truth wasn't rusted And our roots had it's flair When morals weren't watery And our morale were still thick; Rich in outreaches, That stitched all hitches How long would we blame witches, For the cause of our fall? Daily we hear preaches, Yet we still seem here Here, Stuck in this rock of this and that Surely, these times are snoring; Let sleeping times wake!