Save The Day
long the gears have slowed their turn,
by Christopher Withers
blunt edge blurs each mindful stare,
watchful state does not discern,
accelerated, life, it burns.
lost the gaze, the dreamers yearn,
untethered feet do not return,
lucid gaze succumbs to rust,
hazed, the mirror, collects more dust.
too late we see what we have lost,
life a dream, life is lost,
as Earth meanders on her path,
her past forgotten, her past is passed.
onwards, the darkness calls,
observers perish, darkness falls,
time itself, deconstructs,
a universe falls to dust.
each history, book bound, staid,
its furthest reaches always fade,
what hope have we, in slow decay
to leave our mark, to save this day?