The Ruins Of Culture: (August,2023) Poem by DM W

The ruins of culture
are swept up on polluted shores.
Cold, dead -eyed fish
are scattered amongst sea weed.
Foul summer breezes
now reek of meaninglessness.
Angels of mercy
have departed dank realms
where dream- like doves are
murdered by metallic hawks;
where cynical dogs
plot their never- ending wars.
Their agenda is
To tear apart the beating
heart of existence,
until all that remains is
the constant drone of
automatons and complete
compliance to them,
and their corporate buddies,
who always support them.
But we cannot allow them
to drown out debate,
or stifle teeming wisdom
of MLK and
Christ and Krishna consciousness.
The passive people
glow brightly with dollar signs.
Debate is curtailed
by myriad distractions.
Spell bound consumers
can't be active citizens.
Speech without response
is what Baudrillard proclaimed
O life has become
a three ringed circus with clowns,
not skilled ringmasters,
in charge of event! Have you
watched these hucksters at work?
I wouldn't trust them
to run a bath, boil kettles
or turn on a light.
The same old thing is being
cannibalised for
the terminally listless ones
in garish colours;
infinitely forgettable.
But on with the show.
Continue absurd parades
of scammers, fraudsters
and vain- glorious egos,
via these' god' - like
communication systems.
It's so hard to keeping blocking
crass advertisements.
Indeed, it reminds
me of the game Whac- A - Mole:
so irritating
and completely pointless.
O dressed up to kill
These newly- formed choirs of swine
rehearse for TV
Talent shows.! Given the lay
of the land they will
probably claim victory.
Audiences, these
days, clap like performing seals
at anything that
provides a modicum of
so- called entertainment.
When good faith runs out,
we're left with bad vibrations.
Human elements
drift from this plagued, wanton world.
Some are like insects,
and mere insects have no souls.