Our House Stands on the Precipice: A Poem

The House of a long-forgotten world, rotting on the edge of Time. Author’s own AI-generated image.

We had it good once – in that time

When we knew where we belonged.

A place that heard us

When we called out in vain

Against the rising noise of nonsense.

Now, we live on the precipice.

Our house built on the very edge

Of an eroding cliff-face;

Rot already in the foundations,

Of the beams and joints we trusted to hold.

There was a time when a home

Could stand strong on one wage,

When hard work equalled pride,

And honour was a word that rang true.

But what was the cost, and what do we earn now?

This house we built – this civilised world –

Has developed a lean.

We are angry creatures now;

Insular, and living like ghosts

As if existing in a pit of despair.

We must find our way back to a balance;

To speak without fear of exile;

To differ without being cast out.

Are we no better than barbarians,

Just wearing finer cloth?

We let the old things fall

But not questioned what would take their place.

We ignored the great traditions,

That gave us beauty untold,

Unable to be described, nor grasped.

The edge is close now

And we feel it shift beneath our feet.

We have not fallen yet,

But our time is here, now,

To walk calmly back from the precipice.

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NOTE: My own original composition.