Self-destructiveness
It seems to be the illness of the age,
when everyone is hurrying to his doom,
with fury speeded up by isms of every kind
to aid them to some kind of mania,
like alcoholism, addiction of whatever kind,
or, worst of all, the universal stress of workoholism
turning every potent individual to a robot
of manipulated brainwash-stoned efficiency
which makes it quite impossible for anyone
to ever come down straight again
on stable feet with reasonable mind
and the detachment from reality
which is the mark of health and soundness.
So do we hasten to our end in frenzy
in a universal kind of lemming self-destruction
even hurrying up to make it shorter
like a going down Titanic
every minute making worse the torture,
and we do not even seem to mind
but just rush blindly on in no direction
just for the sensation of it,
and that seems to be the motor of all mankind:
that self-destructive urge to hurry to the final fall
that must inevitably come, the sooner and the better.
And that is the greatest folly of them all,
since that's the energy that keeps civilization rolling
headlong downwards but still forward
in a blind chaotic craze of vanity
that is its own most perfect punishment,
since it keeps humankind alive and going
round in circles of insanity of their own making,
sentenced to that doom for life
and all eternity, if they believe in it.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2007-08-03 at 12:59
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