06-03-2012, 02:34 PM
Version 2
We are split you see, more than generationally,
but man from man, not just son from father,
or mother from daughter; although we are peas
shelled from the same great pod,
and yet we find difference,
and blinded by arrogance judge it as a sure defense
in wanton acts of cultural and actual genocide
we think our holiness the same as God.
Still, only human feet have here trod,
grinding our kind to bone and blood,
the Profane in us as rampant as before the flood.
Though subtle, the hand of self-centeredness is truly binding,
laying our soul’s winding on it’s loom
of greed and lust and thus we know nothing but a doom
that denies any pretense to unsullied innocence.
Soon my friends our life’s payment will come due,
in your eyes I see you know this too,
as bankrupt we stand on ever shifting quicksand,
our heads in hands -salt burnt tear blinded eyes-
yet it is only at our self pity do we cry,
as we’ve not the means, or knowledge to get by,
now that we find ourselves here,
at the end of our life's year.
I hear you weakness try and justify,
"What else can we do when Armageddon comes but fly?
Does it matter how long or short the hour,
when we eventually succumb to a coward's
faint heart, whether slowly or quickly we die?”
So, will you not then stand with tightened jaw,
fist balled, and chest outthrust against the ravenous tide,
miming the false bravery displayed in life, as you die?
And does it matter as it so easily rolls you under
and forgotten, your only purpose
used dirt to form another layer of sand,
where the next great group of fools
can blindly take their stand?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
We are split you see,
son from father,
daughter from mother,
peas, de-shelled from the pod,
so spiritually blind we think holiness — God.
Yet, only our feet have trod upon our fellows, grinding
them to bone and blood, the profane as rampant
as before the flood: self-centeredness is truly binding,
taking our soul’s winding, laying it out upon the loom
of greedy & desirous hearts. We know nothing but a doom
that despoils any pretense of unsullied innocence.
Soon my friends the bill will come due,
I see the knowledge in your eyes,
and know, you also know this too.
Bankrupt we stand on ever shifting quicksand,
our heads in hands -salt burnt tear blinded eyes-
we’ve not the means, and lack the knowledge to get by,
and so we quietly wallow here, in depression and despair,
at the end of our life's year.
"What else can we do", I hear you cry,
"when our Armageddon comes — fly?"
Does it really matter how long or short the hour,
we eventually succumb to a coward's
faint heart, whether slowly or quickly we die?
Will you try to stand tall and firm
against the ravaging ravenous tide?
It matters not, for it easily rolls you under,
forming another layer of sand,
where the next great group of fools
can blindly take their stand?
©2012 -Erthona
We are split you see, more than generationally,
but man from man, not just son from father,
or mother from daughter; although we are peas
shelled from the same great pod,
and yet we find difference,
and blinded by arrogance judge it as a sure defense
in wanton acts of cultural and actual genocide
we think our holiness the same as God.
Still, only human feet have here trod,
grinding our kind to bone and blood,
the Profane in us as rampant as before the flood.
Though subtle, the hand of self-centeredness is truly binding,
laying our soul’s winding on it’s loom
of greed and lust and thus we know nothing but a doom
that denies any pretense to unsullied innocence.
Soon my friends our life’s payment will come due,
in your eyes I see you know this too,
as bankrupt we stand on ever shifting quicksand,
our heads in hands -salt burnt tear blinded eyes-
yet it is only at our self pity do we cry,
as we’ve not the means, or knowledge to get by,
now that we find ourselves here,
at the end of our life's year.
I hear you weakness try and justify,
"What else can we do when Armageddon comes but fly?
Does it matter how long or short the hour,
when we eventually succumb to a coward's
faint heart, whether slowly or quickly we die?”
So, will you not then stand with tightened jaw,
fist balled, and chest outthrust against the ravenous tide,
miming the false bravery displayed in life, as you die?
And does it matter as it so easily rolls you under
and forgotten, your only purpose
used dirt to form another layer of sand,
where the next great group of fools
can blindly take their stand?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
We are split you see,
son from father,
daughter from mother,
peas, de-shelled from the pod,
so spiritually blind we think holiness — God.
Yet, only our feet have trod upon our fellows, grinding
them to bone and blood, the profane as rampant
as before the flood: self-centeredness is truly binding,
taking our soul’s winding, laying it out upon the loom
of greedy & desirous hearts. We know nothing but a doom
that despoils any pretense of unsullied innocence.
Soon my friends the bill will come due,
I see the knowledge in your eyes,
and know, you also know this too.
Bankrupt we stand on ever shifting quicksand,
our heads in hands -salt burnt tear blinded eyes-
we’ve not the means, and lack the knowledge to get by,
and so we quietly wallow here, in depression and despair,
at the end of our life's year.
"What else can we do", I hear you cry,
"when our Armageddon comes — fly?"
Does it really matter how long or short the hour,
we eventually succumb to a coward's
faint heart, whether slowly or quickly we die?
Will you try to stand tall and firm
against the ravaging ravenous tide?
It matters not, for it easily rolls you under,
forming another layer of sand,
where the next great group of fools
can blindly take their stand?
©2012 -Erthona
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.