The promise of better times

We create and then wreck by
dissecting each word and each word
intersects with the creation we wrecked
and where does it end?
at the end?

I go with the parallel lines
and with each to his own
these turbulent times.

The light years that flood darkness,
it all melds into one
and whose hand is behind this?

I try to recreate me in a creation
yet to be and it’s already been done,
it looks like the clone has begun
the clone is just a cull,
mull over that one.

I thought that eventually
we’d all be made in China
but never gave a thought
to the machinery that would make us
and who’d create them?

who’d make monsters of men?

© 2018, John Smallshaw.