With billions of others a stampeding herd
Running, turning, every direction, no direction
A voiceless Babel with too many words
Happy to belong to everything, belonging to nothing
A troupe of prophets with nothing to see
With too many visions, with no vision
Followers of the automated, the conformed pack
Pleased with no direction, no hope, no vision
makes me feel sad for people like that.
ReplyDeleteMe too.
ReplyDelete