High Speed Going Nowhere Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

We are carried through the air at the greatest of speed,
We sit comfortable, we sip drinks, and even can read.

No more storming of the waves, or riding bumpy roads,
No week long journeys, which daily prayer forbodes.

And todays high flying speed train,
Is just a grounded version of a jet aeroplane.

But where are we going at this great rate?
We'll be there before we started, before they open the gate.

I think the purpose of this great flair,
Is to drink one more cup on the ground, not in the air.

For what do we do with all of this saved time?
Usually to brag about how my time is mine.

We have found ourselves trapped in a spiral of fast,
'Faster, fastest, forgotten', I gasp.

We ask the gods what are we worth?
'Less than before', they chuckle with mirth.