In "The Bard’s Eye on Now," Shakespeare’s spirit returns to behold the wonders and flaws of the modern age. With awe, he watches the rapid rise of technology, where thoughts soar like arrows across the sky and iron chariots race through the heavens. Yet, despite these marvels, he mourns the coldness of human hearts and the corruption of power, as greed and violence still plague mankind. This poem wants to blend Shakespearean grandeur with a sharp critique of human nature, reflecting timeless truths through the lens of modern advancements. It reminds us that while progress may light the path, it is our hearts that must truly lead the way.

What strange, strange world is this where men doth trade,
For trinkets bright and moments fleeting sold?
The earth itself, which once in peace was laid,
Now labours ‘neath the weight of hearts grown cold.
Yet wondrous ‘tis to see this modern age,
Where thought doth fly with wings unknown to me,
Where words, like arrows, swift take flight from page,
And countless souls may read, and yet be free.

‘Tis marvels great—such iron chariots fast,
That race ‘cross heavens as though they were kin,
And voices now do travel far, not past
The moon, but to it, whence they might begin.
What golden ink this is, that doth empower
The writer’s hand to spread beyond his door!
This modern quill doth stretch from hour to hour,
And none can say it reaches not its shore.

Yet, humankind, thy hearts be still as stone,
Though minds be sharp and thou dost ride the sky.
The crown of kings now lies, by greed overthrown,
And man doth crush his brother’s soul to die.
No monarch reigns within the hearts of men,
But power drunk, they wreak their own undoing;
What noble thought was once, is nought again,
As mind doth toil but yields to dark pursuing.

So, let me see this world of wonder grand,
And yet I mourn what comes of humankind.
To write such words, to build with bloodied hand,
Is but a mirror for a weary mind.
For lo! in all this progress, we are lost—
The better part of man, forgotten most.

I’d marvel, yes, and use this craft so wide,
This modern ink, this steel that ever flies,
Yet, still, I’d judge the hearts that none can hide,
And in this world, would seek what truth denies.
The play doth end, the curtains rise again,
But men, in folly, act their roles, as then.