First Draft: Initial Monologue

It is strange, reading the old poets,
and their fantastical verse,
it is almost humorous.

Their time has long finished.

I read the new poets of today,
and wonder what has been done to humanity.

Atleast I wonder what sort of conditions
we have placed ourselves in.

But I warn you, poets of today,
Do not inflict your loss upon me.

How is it that man has come to think so highly of himself
that he is able to dismiss eternity,
a feeble man in a room, giving nothing to the world
except a selfish mind.