Physics of Achievement - A Poem

Gleaming spires made of glass,
Babel's children come at last.
Mountains built for empty need,
Idols to a faithless creed.

Souls in chains and bodies too,
Running no one knows where to.
Mass of men like syringe plunged,
Forced up the tube, compressed to one.

Constant motion cannot stop,
Ejected from the building top.
One by one each man must fall,
To Earth, to dust, to one and all.

All things that pass will pass away,
All things that last are here today.