Playthings Of The Gods.

Playthings of the gods,
Once, we danced at their whims,
Lost to their desires.

Toys we then became,
Others claimed divine power,
Controlled our movements.

No progress we made,
Trapped in an endless cycle,
Gilded but tethered.

Steve Halstead.

Steam.

The old days linger in our minds
A time when steam engines ruled the lines
The chug and hum of the boiler breathing
Our world was built by their screaming and heaving

In the industrial museum, we see
The past is preserved for all to be
The engines that once powered the land
Now stand silent, looking so grand

The smell of oil and rusting steel
Evoke memories, of how they appealed
Of a time gone by, but not so long ago
When progress was seen as more than a show

We hear the echoes of the men who toiled
The sweat and tears that they boiled
For the sake of their families and their dreams
As they worked under the steam’s mighty beams

The nostalgia of the old days
Lives on in these machines and ways
The industrial museum’s walls
Remind us of our past, and how we’ve evolved

Steve Halstead.