What then?

What then?

What times are these, when there are no more words to write?
What times are these, when there are no more pictures to sight?
What times are these, when childhood leaves us through pain?
What times are these, when every storyland knight has been slain?
     When every pricess has been kissed & wed,
     Or fought for & rescued from her bed?
     When every foe has been defeated,
     Or every virus been deleted?
          -What then?

What times are these, when everything has been done before?
What times are these, when there is nothing left to explore?
What times are these, when we fight our brothers in war?
What times are these, when we know but choose to ignore?
     When every soldier lies bloody & dead,
     Or forever marches with helmeted head?
     When there is calm and peace amongst all who’ve wept,
     But not a man to enjoy it left.
          -What then?

What times are these, when our bodies can’t cope with modern life?
What times are these, when our faulty design just goes under the knife?
What times are these, when plastic aligns our to being a smile?
What times are these, when happiness is based on the things you buy, for a while?
     When every blemish has been smoothed over,
     When every bargain’s been snatched up.
     When every form is identical, the same,
     Like Stepford Wives with cloned D cups.
          -What then?

~ by Vicki on June 17, 2007.