Ruins Covered in Dunes
The wag is tailing the dog;
Guiding it from behind.
Driving it randomly,
Like it doesn't have a mind.
Our mere whims and trite wishes
Are all that is in control.
We scurry in pursuit
Of this and that specious goal.
It feels good, or it just might,
Is all of a reason
To run off naked, barefoot...
No mind to ground or reason.
Cold, lost, blistered and bloody:
We don't go home to heal,
To regroup and reflect.
We chase another sweal.
Thus we tear ourselves apart
And leave behind us ruins
And never stop to think
How great civilizations
Came to be covered in dunes.
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