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Flatlined
Folder:
Poems That Tell A Story Entrapped,
circulation-cut off,
blood flow-diminished,
pulse-thready and weak,
respirations-shallow.
The chance of survival-slim.
For society has crashed-
head-on,
in collision with immorality
and greed.
It sped right through
the warning signals,
never looking both ways,
ignoring the 'stop' sign,
and never wary,
of the oncoming.
The righteous have tried
to extract it from
the wreckage
and revive it.
But the rubber-neckers,
blocked the way,
over-enjoying the carnage,
while slick 'ambulance chasers'
made the rounds,
handing out gold embossed
business cards.
The jaws of life are useless,
for the masses have decided,
there's not much left,
worth saving.
The crowd is hushed
and the only sound heard,
is the declining bleeping
on a monitor screen,
fading, fainter
and fainter...
Flat-lined,
society is dead,
and all that remains,
on the pot-holed pavement,
is a chalk outline,
in the shape of mankind.
