Poem: Nero Dances

The changing times,

how come nothing matters anymore?

weekly the focus shits from one tragedy to the next,

the world is our playground,

the world is our entertainment,

the world is our story,

someone flip over the page,

forgetting what was read,

the forest still burns,

but a new phone, new food, new show comes,

with it goes the old concerns,

with it comes the weekly water cooler talk or group memes now,

kin to the gluttonous roman emperors,

pleasure-filled,

a week ago was Rome,

today slowly drips into the past,

your moral and cowardly concerns drip into the past,

your not moral enough, your now cowardly enough, your not equal enough,

tomorrow you shall have something else to feel superior about,

page flipped,

tomorrow you shall have something else to distract you,

“Did you see—”

page flipped,

tomorrow you shall have something else to hate,

“How could he—”

page flipped,

the forest still burns,

Nero plays the fiddle,

now he would have scrolled past,

double tap, maybe? retweet, maybe?

on to the next,

fiddle plays in the back,

Nero dances in the light of the fire,

page flipped.