Lost Relics Poem by pedro moshood

It seems I can view the entire
Race of every human chatted
And plotted on a map of desire.

As pebbles that have lost their colors
Our conscience appears dead or lost
And we cannot tell what is right from wrong
While furthering our ado like a mad man
Chasing his own shadow.

Our minds are no longer held in one bond
Like thousands of pages scattered
Into several directions dictated to it by the wind.

Only the few, that have, will listen to the companion in them
And give it the rein to lead them on its own pace
To save the relics of values buried
Right underneath the eroding strength of civilization.