Human

Is being wasted, the life - is passing as lost time,

Like the moon, every dream - spinning, windy clime.

Too many turning moons - make fear, horror, crime,

Finally, no ring, sound - of the noisy youth’s chime.

Somebody in fall, loss - some other, gain and prime,

Risk with “cleanliness” - in the world of dirt, grime.

And the golden days, nights - wasted as a junky dime,

No trace in this challenge - of human love’s rhyme.