The Hollow Age

A poem on this Dark Age of ours inspired quite obviously by T. S. Eliot's 'The Hollow Men'.

We are the 'hollow men' - the ones without souls,

The lifeless stare of automatons, begging for control,

The heartless love songs sung in lyrical falsetto, meant to lull,

The hideous aesthetic we call our own, fresh out of the mold,

The hopeless machine men, just begging to be sold,

The fat cats with aces in their sleeves, just waiting for us to fold,

The children taught nothing but lies, the truth will never be told,

The dreamers sleepwalking into nightmares, a makeshift patrol,

The intent is obvious, but there are no heads on poles.

The misery is contagious, there's nothing left to console,

The Mysteries are victorious, it's no wonder humans wake up in holes,

The future is ominous, and I refuse to play their role

Or even star in their play, to sing a single note.

I'll break their 4th wall every day, with every song that I've wrote.

With every word that I sing, I cry out the destruction they bring;

With every chance that I get, I'll make sure the people won't forget 

A single martyr, a single life that you've taken.

You say it doesn't matter, that I'm simply mistaken,

But we're all collateral damage, I've screamed it to the point that my voice is breaking.

Another hasty cover up, we all see that you're shaking.

Scared to see a people, that outright don't want and don't need you;

So you rush to the steeple, another television sermon from the state saying "we're here to please you."

'And this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper...'

Author's Note

1/13/15