Spinning, Spinning a poem by Sean G. Kilkelly

I know you are afraid of facing the world,
So you indulge in all things comfort,
But gain nothing from it.
The earth spins constantly,
Which makes me wonder,
If that is why so many are confused.
The ink is not dry on human history,
The quills are still busying themselves with the thrills of mankind.
Are we so lost that we don't recognize one another in passing,
But wait for each other to leave this dimension,
Before we are even worth garnering a mention.
Time heals they say, but does it really?
And if so how long will it take?
Do the wounds that we carry just become more suppressed,
Leaving so many so overtly depressed.
Am I rambling like a madman or does my prose ring true for you?
The man on TV tells me the end is near?
He threatens an impending Armageddon
But this male does so in the realm of an incredibly lost medium.
Each day we wake up we are sold a bill of goods,
From hoods who should be on street corners,
Although now they occupy the web, TV, and radio.
'Twas once the world looked so bright to you,
Yet now you ask me how to reignite your passion for life.
Spinning, spinning out of control,
The earth rotates it revolves,
Don't look up or down you may fall off,
Beware of the preacher man,
he will rob you blind,
Be careful what you wish for,
you may receive something very unkind.