The First Thinkers of an Age

The trees groan to the sound
The motorway hums as the cars tickle the tarmac
The darkened clouds shroud the brown earth
The metallic tang of the rain remains

The faint stains on the walls
Cramped in corners they stand
Together, drawn in their loneliness
The first thinkers of an age

Having had no gifts from the past
They focus on the present
They see the cars drive on by
Watch the children stop and stare

They see that the world is blind
Thinking they are secured by the silver bullets
The black hearts of a few men
Who made a mistake only several million can mend