Man has not ripened in a thousand years;
The same old insecurities and strife,
A tale of struggle, glory, smiles and tears
All blent together mixt with chaos rife;
Each generation reaching to grasp change
Where egos urge advancement on before;
Though gestures, clothes and styles or means may range,
The id adheres to jealous creeds foresworn.
While constructs of the mind are quick to burn,
And what was right now cinder cast as wrong,
The super ego is oft slow to warn
And animas drop civil cloaks they’ve donned.
Thus what was progress seems decline renamed,
And love and hate stand but as words exchanged.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.