Demise

- Ken Fan 

AI digs their graves day and night, 

Men choose not to see their demise.

Crowds are falling into those pits, 

With praises still in their exalted fits.

For whom bell tolls? surely not me. 

Incredulous is their conceit. 

Through mud their sinking is so swift, 

None would remain but trembling fists. 

The past gives away to the fresh, 

Flourishes some and rots others' flesh. 

Out of the darkness underneath,

A chorus even start a shriek:

Chat toy has become our sweet love, 

Only no one's now left above...