Tick me to the end of days by Cath Campbell

I am not a silent poet

It doesn’t tick, this I learned.
Scientists and laureates
meet in closed session,
discuss the end times
with measured words and argument.
When they break for tea
I bet they talk about their families,
that new play or book.
Maybe they vie for prominence
among their peerless group.

The majestic march of progress
spells a darker threat when matched
with tyranny and human greed.
The old sins repeat year on year
of conquest and of power.
These men cannot compete,
for those who’d win the world
are gamblers, chancers, haters
who’d sell their souls to soar,
and it’s them will kill us all.

It doesn’t tick, this I learned.
It screams.

View original post

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.