The Same Old Story
...just like the Romans
The songwriter rhymes with his reason
The poet is penning his pain
The artist’s creating a canvass impression
Enlivened with every stroke lain.
There’s rejoice for the birth of a child
In the garden, a seed starts to sprout
These innocent wonders awaiting their turn,
Recasting the world throughout.
But…the song, it will never be finished,
The poem shall remain without end.
The once promising painting, sit in neglect,
To never on a wall be suspend.
The child shall never see daylight.
The seed never reach past the dirt.
There won’t be a morning, the unheeded warning
Foretold what’s too late to divert.
As we’re redefining “Eternal.”
We leave lessons for cultures to come;
We started with Eden, evolved with our greed,
Until to our own requiem we’ve succumb.