Modern Hubris Poem by DM W

As I slowly turn over the pages
Of the weathered book of Love, like old earth,
I realise it has nothing to say
To all those who will never know the worth
Of life. For all they perceive are profits
And the hollow glories of dark mirrors.
When their cold hearts are filled with deep regrets,
It will be too late to admit errors.
O it will be too late to draw beauty
From the pellucid light of the sun
And pure pools of Truth! For deep human needs
Have been callously replaced by false wants.
In the end, all of their dreams will be turned
To dust, and nothing of note, will be learned.