Tired Society

I peer out at the world from behind my tinted window,
Like some phantasm passing silently over the countryside;
Endless, snow-covered fields stretching in all directions,
Like a brown, rolling sea only broken up by a blanched house here or there;
They stand as testaments to the careless endurance of their inhabitants;
Outside in the yard looms a once-crimson giant;
Its rafter have long since rotted and caved in,
Leaving its great head now wounded;
But the people pass as though it was nothing;
They continue to stuff it with dirty hay, never even considering repairing it;
An ancient pickup guards the houses, its usefullness only memory;
Its rusted fender offers a tired grin, remembering happier days;
A silo standing like another sentinal, surveys the fields with its one giant eye;
Neglect has put this rusted guardian out of commission;
Out front, standing on lanky stilts like a broken, forgotten clown an
     aged  windmill no longer spins from lack of blades,
Some rotted off, some torn off by the numerous storms that the old
     farmhouse has endured over the years;
The lone, miserable creature seen is an old, dirty crow,  a black
     spot  swallowed in a sea of brown and white,
Like so many of the people, lost.

But now these ancients are gone;
I only see distnace;
An object appears on the empty horizon;
I moves closer and closer, faster and faster,
And vanishes from sight just as quickly;
Others follow suit;
Paint-chip farmhouses pass;
Long abandoned barns pass;
A rusted barbed-wire fence appears, runs its course, and then is is forgotten
     like so many others.

I can't help feeling that I am the only one moving forward,
Like this is the land Time forlorns;
Today is the same as yesterday;
And tomorrow will be no different.