Click like a photograph
The image it is gone
Or like music on a phonograph
The melody lingers on.
The sweet smell of success
The bird song at dawning
The memories that oppress
The syncophants greasy fawning.
News print black on white
Comes off on the fingers
The smell of dirt and disaster
Thats like a cloud that lingers.
We whirl on, ever faster
Not knowing that we whirl
Not caring that the Master
Has control of all.
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you recommend or rate the work highly...
An interesting pastiche of modern life, if I get it right. Minor quibbles: Second line sounds forced; could do with a bit of rewrite (my opinion); a quick trip with the spell checker would pick up onee or two little flaws. But it has just about everything. It scans, it moves, it means. Pretty good stuff!