Apathy hangs dark over decision, 
     excusing all sloth, blurring road vision, 
     giving full lie to great works in progress, 
     never completed, and soon lost in morass. 

     "It's too late!" they say, fat-tub-shaped, reclining, 
     pick up the remote, futher defining 
     their eyescreens, blue-green and dimly reflected, 
     watching the world's grisly business, dejected. 

     Outside, the screaming comes, heard, unabated, 
     sounds deftly muted, cruel listeners elated. 
     False laughter echoes through homes all around 
     and children grow up to that stifling sound. 

     Violence is reeking from earth's every pore, 
     hooks gutting her gullet, beak choking up gore. 
     Bloodiness spills with the growth of dark ages, 
     and historians smirk adding death to their pages.