Poetry

The final cliché

The final cliché

When th’endangered species are no more
and the seas are no longer around,
and the multicultural masses
are expiring under the ground;

When every darned thing has been side-lined;
and the last line in the sand has been drawn,
and nothing is fit for purpose,
and nobody else can be born;

When the toasted lonely planet
circles a raging star,
sexuality won’t be an issue
or what religion you are;

When ethnicity’s simply irrelevant
and there isn’t a single one
to choose the road less travelled
for all the diversity’s gone;

The moon will turn itself around
and reveal what had passed us by—
a notice in very small letters:
Terms and conditions apply.

W.H. Presley

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