Twilight Of The Idols: (2022) Poem by DM W

These tribal rituals,
Erupting in blind violence
Intermittently,
Are pale echoes of patterns
From prior epochs.
Minotaur urges and fears
Arise in labyrinths
Of crude, artificial times.
Everything is now
Caked in mass advertising.
There is no exit.
Day glow designs surround us
And make me long for,
And then firmly, pray for sweet
Visions of halos.
Beauty turns to ugliness,
Once vital Forms have
Been corroded. Red turns to black
As Nature's life blood
Congeals. There is no exit.
Cold-steel plans and schemes:
The dance has been disrupted.
I sense the sadness
Deep within your pale blue eyes.
And I lament with
All my heart, the vast distance,
Between you and I.
Yet Love''s bliss has passed us by.
The cruel hawks of war
Tear apart the doves of peace.
Constant feedback loops:
Nothing in particular,
Regurgitate junk
24/7.
I see no angels
These disembodied voices
Are all I can hear.
Nursery lullabies are
Laid to waste in
The crucible of memory.
Where's the scared Word
Amidst detached virtual world?
Fragmented systems
Of belief can no longer
Suppress the chaos.
Pleasures will fade way
In the needle chill fallout.
There's nothing to see
Behind this alcohol fuelled haze.
Endless shadow plays
Of fake hysteria will
Pollute pure pools of silence,
When all's said and done.
Apathy breeds like maggots.
We are now unmoved
By wide screen atrocities,
Stars drift over this abyss,
But we cannot hope
To catch them and put them in
Our pockets; save them
For a rainy day. Alas,
It is too late. No gods can
Save us in this bleak
Twilight of idolatry.