Prose and musing by Sam I am.
Writer of cyberpunk, dystopian fiction, and nonfiction. Plus whatever drives me at the time.
Now we rush in to save the Eaton mess from crumbling in his house of cards.
Meanwhile, those once bound for their own safety, and that of others, unmask their grimaced faces once more.
As we step out back to new normalcy, all care to the wind, we long for home.
The platform is hazy with the rush of 9 to 5 and no one stops to stare or even catch the eye.
How quickly we forget. And we’re on to the next fear stoked from flames of mediocrity it’s a distasteful campfire once more.
And all the time mother chokes as a tree falls without sound far from here, but never dies alone. Until it does.
Even then we will devour its essence to fuel our fires and choke its mother once more. Will we learn.
Or is it sufficient to watch her burn as the little piggies feast on the offal of peasants.devouring with glee the opposition.
We look on bemused. Confused and distraught as the reality we once knew slips between our fingers.
Certainty becomes less certain and dissolution becomes the only solution.
When will it end, the barrage of fear on our nervous system. The longing for something different than this.
We walk on.
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Photo by David McEachan from Pexels
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