spinning on a cron-clock

   People are just, mostly just; I
   mean, don’t get me wrong; not
   anyone here;
   but I mean, people
   are mostly just empty, vacant, bright
   shattering pieces of glowing
   in the darkness of an endless
   black
   pitch of space and night
                     and they think that there’s something
   they should be frightened of, but
   it’s nothing; it’s just their minds thinking; or
   rather, bot thinking—yes, an endless loop of
   robotic programming,
                     spinning on a cron-clock telling
   itself nothing; or nothing of
   worth, but

   that doesn’t stop them from
   figuring out how to turn the
   whole mess into a steaming heap of
   tomorrows; if you get
                     my drift.

Good rhythm and use of repetition, but the end feels a bit too abrupt... perhaps the end could include a subtle reference back to the beginning of the poem to highlight the theme of perpetual recurrence in human thought? I think it would put the finishing touch on what's already very well done-- just a thought.

-Oleksa 

I hear what you're saying and will take a look at that. Thanks for the words of encouragement.

HG

Ah! Beautiful! I write lyrics for a couple of bands and this has the most fantastic sense of movement. I was a little worried about "shattering pieces of glowing/
in the darkness of an endless/ black", a well worn idea. After another read or two though I decided that you've liberated it and not regurgitated it (ewww, sorry about the graphic description!) Thanks very much for the read.

Thankyou, my man, for the hear, here. I, too, used to write a few lyrics in my band days (before rap took over the planet---in the US, at least; maybe just California, I don't know).

Keep up the keepin' on,

HG