Desperate for likes and nominal friends,
Swallowing whole what the T.V. says,
But never a thought for how it all ends,
What on earth are we doing?
Not happy with plenty, only with more,
With no idea what we are here for,
As long as we’re better than the man next door,
Where on earth are we going?
Consciences soothed with flattering speech,
Flee from accountability’s reach,
Happy denial, lull us to sleep,
Or what on earth might we see?
When character’s fine but appearances sell,
And feelings serve as truth just as well,
The water is foul but pretty’s the well,
What on earth are we sowing?
Trading our individual worth,
Heaven is sold for a safe patch of earth,
Forget the direction, just run with the herd,
But what, in the end, will we reap?
© 2019 MILES VENISON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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