The World Is Watching Our Every Move Poem by Mark Heathcote

The world is watching our every move.
Or it is disinterested in our misery and plight.
Which is it? Well-it-all depends on where you're standing
and also what your viewpoint is, whether or not it's right.
And also what you decreed to obtain by determination or fate alone.

Sure, we build our future on the ashes
and cinders of a thousand dead stars
without a flight plan, we enter a galaxy of black holes.
Looking for that one Goldilocks planet
that can support a life form long enough that it can thrive.

Everywhere you look, a camera is turned-on-facing-you
or it is exacerbated by your mediocrity and satellites
looking the opposite way, it's hard, a hard journey.
whatever-route-is-plotted, like a comet orbiting dark matter,
obscurity is my favoured spot.

The world can do without me and me it.
It has done me no favours, is all I'm saying
I haven't a pot to piss in, but I don't care.
I will live and die without any fanfare.
And if one tear is split, let it be tearful laughing.

And on that day, I die, not a camera or an eye
will blink to see my passing. I will join the remnants
of a time long forgotten but in some small way
my words will linger on light-years-from-now
the residue of thought will be once again spoken.