Here’s a thing about modern woe,
It’s all an act, as in a morbid show.
Fed and watered, by their mobile screens,
They seek to play out in the world, their sordid scenes.
Having been everywhere, while going nowhere,
They are already too late, to find their way.
Yet of all the places they have already been,
They can never seem to speak, of the magic they have seen.
Now they turn on the world and they scream and cry,
Demanding answers to settled questions of what, where and why.
It would be nice if we could sit down and talk,
But all they want is chatter, and many an aimless walk.
See, here’s the thing about modern woe,
It’s about an invisible wound, and not having scars to show.
_V.
14/01/2020
Righting Writing 