by Rick Young | Jun 17, 2021 | Poem
The world is at a standstill.
There is no such thing as time.
Every inch into the modern world’s
considered blatant crime.
On the fulcrum of extinction,
we are balanced on a peak.
It may all end in a year, a month,
some even say next week.
With rains and floods and fires,
we’ll be ushered out the door.
While remaining time expires,
we live on the killing floor.
Just one small tilt toward an edge
could unloose great destruction.
There are no more bets left to hedge.
There’s no hint at instruction.
We could become a void in space,
a former, not a latter.
Alas, the poor old human race,
run down to anti-matter.
by Rick Young | Jun 17, 2021 | Poem
I’ve been booked for a holiday in hell,
whose soundtrack is a constant ringing bell.
Each meal, exactly same, and sleep, a losing game.
If there’s an escape route, no one will tell.
The personnel ensure they’ll be your friend.
But, what they don’t explain: it will not end.
There’s no plan for return; it’s an eternal burn.
An S.O.S. is nothing you can send.
Goodbye world I’ve known most all my life.
So long home, hearth, kitty cats and wife.
It’s strange I’ll not be missed.
Seems I’ve been Judas-kissed.
And now I hold the wrong end of the knife.
My life’s become a film stuck on repeat,
an endless journey down a one-way street.
It’s home without a range.
The view will never change.
From living soul, I’ve now turned into meat.
