---

Staring at the ceiling,
awaiting the known unknown.
Too bleak.
Living in false solace,
the promise's wasted, somewhat tarnished.

Creak. Tick-tock.
Countdown to the mission,
is this a glimpse of apocalyptic visions?
Cognitive dissonance
draws our nonchalance; further, decadence.

Though encouraged to impart the honest conclusion,
their derision is always an acute confusion.

When the time comes, dare I say,
‘no reserve, retreat nor regret’?
Feeling no warmth, cold as clay,
my soul's full of dismay.
Constant streams come down and wet
that solitary silhouette.
A sluggish life would preset
a sufficient end yet.
Fading to obscurity
is the even-handed justice.
We've been drifting to and fro,
lost in the ebb and flow.

From segment steadily to fragment,
or leave the helm, enterin' the peaceful realm.

When the time comes, dare I say,
‘no reserve, retreat nor regret’?
Feeling no warmth, cold as clay,
my soul's full of dismay.
Constant streams come down and wet
that solitary silhouette.
A sluggish life would preset
a sufficient end yet.
The perfect tranquility
should always derive from within.
So be it.

---

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