Poem of William Hermanns

The Three-Dimensional Man

 What has become of modern man:
A dust of myth, a myth of dust.
He's but creation's mockery.

Man's ego, how it changed our earth
to a hunting place for scarlet lust,
for scavenging greed and slavery.

Blest be the three-dimensional world
owned by our touch and ears and eyes,
by taste buds with big belly belt.

Blest be machine, how it is loved
by the white hand. The black hand sighs.
Revolution can be smelt.

Custodian of a dying culture,
his ego makes his intellect
an ever recycling compost heap:

Recycled beer can, woman face,
and pleasure bed. The home is wrecked.
Let religion creep but business leap.

What a feast for demons: The ego's friend!
They make creation's seventh day smile,
the human being, their tool and toy.

Cement mentality needs no Bible,
man's vision is the atom pile
for robot-soldiers to enjoy.

Man's purse is Mother Earth's demise.
Intentions, seldom conscience fed,
speak, "I or you." Not "You and I."

And so his genes are a breeding place
for lust. The demons share his bed
to his last breath, but asks he why?

His child is fed by sinful hands,
no conscience molds its genes but lust
So grows the three-dimensional human.
His future: Bombs and dust.

                        William Hermanns        [P300]