poetry by
Stu Barnhart


....to neo-Babylon

It's self serve salvation here in this plastic paradise.
Deception rules a land of fools where everything appears so nice.
Palm trees sway upon command and healing water flows
High to Heaven in dreams (or so it seems), a LEGO tower grows.

There's no need for a voice or a face in this place,
Or even a reason to feel.
With heads in sand and a slight of hand,
We can believe it's all virtually real.
But the sands of time are shifting now
And the tide is turning fast.
As the human element becomes irrelevant,
The illusion comes to pass.

These walls were constructed one time before,
And they held such a greatness within.
They were thought to stand strong until God came along
And scattered it all to the wind.
So firm and true - the convictions! These means are justified
By self-sacrifice and a roll of the dice.
It appears we're along for the ride.

"Oh come all you faithful ones", the Terminal Voice replies,
"From your darkness into the sun, and run, run....to neo-Babylon".


viewzone || poetry || comments or submissions? || Rate: