How We Spend Our Lives Poem by Paul Wilson

In the shadow
Between dark and light;
In the suffocating
Arclit compound;
In the gloom
Of doubt and contingency
Which would snap if a bird sang
But no bird can;
In the anteroom
To the chamber of my love
- Will she receive us?

And there are some among us who spend the time
Waiting for higher motives to engage them
That never do. And so
There are no more missionaries,
No more saints, no more saviours, no more poets,
No more philosophers. Only tycoons,
And us, the little people
We turn into ourselves....