Like a recycled sitcom plot
The clock sits stuck
at two to twelve
Nothing new to see anymore
All our childhood heroes
have been flogged to death


The dead litter the halls
heads devolved
of originality
free thought
free will
freedom
Its better this way

The rift between man and machine
    that inevitable clash
with the steel beast
System failure of humanity
  rather lack of
empathy towards human beings
and more sympathy for the artificial
Intelligence cast away for the  lazy convenience
  of virtual living

The war drums are sounding

Clay
must never
mix with
Iron

Close
to you
holding tightly, dawn peering
through the curtains
We fit each other well
like a fine tailored suit
You and I through thick and thin
oh have we seen some things
Together
scaled our share of mountains

Still

I like these calm moments shared with you

Dusty music box
tucked behind
a bookshelf
that could have been
well read
instead shrouded in cobwebs
At the foot of the shelf
sits an old typewriter
faded oil canvas
the back drop for
boxes of all shapes
sizes and mildewed states

Journals, memoirs and autobiographicals
Classic fiction even a thesaurus
all packaged away in storage

A lonely guitar longing to be strummed
The once grand piano
silent now
A saxophone minus a reed
TV's and vintage consoles
even a few dolls

Its all there all packaged in storage

When reality went virtual the sensual became obsolete

Its all gone wrong
major tom
Boomers singing
never gonna give you up
Baby
Just another day tucked in bed
Paradise can wait
Mummas teaching a course in free thinking
she won't be in till after ten
Pappas off perming mullets
all weekend
he's a successful business man

Questionable fashion and a lack of common sense
Less said about this decade the better

Many
find the full moon
the most alluring
Me
I  prefer the fading slivers of the waning moon
that last flickering of a dying light