On a planet of many
Made of dust and grime
Controlled by ingrained functions.
Relative, it may be
Progress, most certainly.
Values that die with the soul
Thoughts that quantify the price
Of life, of all things that last
Logical endeavours bound by moments
Countless in number between clunks
Formed by powerful hands
In tangible time on physical surfaces
Internal sensations that remain inarticulate
Unlike the passing waves of sorrow
Once our shared acts become our own.
Love only mortals whom give and take
Replace bits and piece together anew
A cycle that binds us to all cultures
And herds languages and fashions to expiration
Until the self-serving one rules
Chooses to redefine history with future,
Its version that possesses and guides
Destroys criteria, leaves in every way
Until revolutionary prejudice fills voids.
Religious projects create superheroes
Valued as ideals amongst the pollutants
Strength enough to bury moral laws
But not to free negative acts,
Performances that cater for societies’ canters.
David A. Church