“The modernity of Man
Is like the death of a star,
Which you think still shines but nay,
It’s already dead.
The industrialization of Man
Is like a firework–
With noises and sparks that light up the night,
But for a twinkling throb and gone.
The progressivism of Man
Is like a bullet train or a jet plane,
Which speed disallows the eyes
To see the grandeur of the land.
The postmodernity of Man
Is like their broken, fragmented hearts–
Overcome by the confusion there is:
Every thing, claiming to be true.
The globalization of Man
Is like a five-day holiday,
And they are colonized, unknowingly
Both by their supports and their protests.
The history of Man
Is all about being vacuumed into a vacuum–
‘Tis how time sucks youth out of life,
‘Tis how it stole you from mine.
(But yeah, despite the decaying of Man
In struggling, seeds see the Sun,
The seasons, changing but constant,
So are the stories that have woven you and I.
The language of Man is changing
But always structured. Just like love,
Like hope, faith, taking different shapes
But it’s there. It’s still here.
Thus, the paths of Man is but anchored
To a circular progression.
‘Tis a bridge from sunset to sunrise.
Now you know why the planets are round?)”