An Epitaph

An Epitaph

86 now,

just wrote my memoirs

An epitaph really,

only for me – to remember myself.

Grandchildren today don’t read

or know about the past that’s gone.

The gas lights in our road

The milkman’s dray with dreary steed

munching his oats for feed.

A world apart from Google’s load

of social media trash

in today’s illusionary world.

A mishmash of AI

of atoms gathering to attack

the vacant space

of meaningless and waste

humanity has minded

for its own extinction.

One day soon to die.

Unwitting Xmas turkeys

so now ride the billions

mindless into the valleys of death.

Spending their lives away

socially, or so they say.

Waiting always for the big one.

Now it has come.

JB