Who Will Hear?

Written Jan. 8, 1998

Written while wondering if all the people who were seeing me for the first time on my web page would ever see the real me. Probably not. An upbeat piece (not really) on the future of the world, as viewed by the cynical me of the time.


I used to see the future,
a private screening in my mind.
Now there's no tomorrow;
nothing can be known.

The price of blood is getting cheaper.
No one has control
We are falling down endless drop,
a pit of our own making.

And I ask:

Who will ever see my dance?
Who will read the lines I write?
With nothing so certain,
who will even hear my words?

After all the lights are down
and I shout to the night,
will only empty cities echo
my barren words to me?

And what of the world
my children enter?
Will they be loved?
Will there be home for them?

Millennial woes creep
fast around the corner
How will they live, the
children of the damned?

© Matthew Rutherford 1998

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