Catacombs of the Future

Here follows a poem I wrote to the South China Morning Post criticizing the materialism of our contemporary world.

Thirteen miles into the Caverns of Time,
You shall find the chanbers where the Deads lie,
Luxuriantly donned in their gowns of gold,
Delicately crafted by the most Scholarly Souls.
Hear the rams of Hammer on sheets of gold,
'Til at last they are just thin enough to fold.

Wrapped around perished eyes are silk linen cloths,
Adorned with coins and humanity's foes,
Upon grim walls hang portraits or Old,
Green, red and orange maimed their simplest souls.
Filth gathers in thick carpets of Dust,
From coffins arose such putrefactory musk!

Indulge now in your blind man's trust,
For you are so Made and thus you must,
Feast upon such beauty you see,
For ere long it shall evaporate into the Nightmarish me.

Gall me your friend or otherwise a fiend,
Compliments they are as ever they are meant to be,
Humanity be accused for Vanity's fame,
Infants be Corrupted and Lives be lost,
Millenia of work now ruined in Vain.