Living in shells of isolated connection, Lighting up faces consumed with mild apprehension, Emotions felt no greater, Than they are expressed, By the shaking of hands, And pointing of fingers, And the blameless worship, on convenient altars, Of reflections, Of ourselves, Or at least, as we deem to be, Observed by our peers, Casting these moments, At the feet, Of those, Who surround us , And digest the memories, We call sentimental and dear,
Unable to remember what is gone, Only that it has been forgotten,
Times now known to be gone, Foster great regret, For they were not cherished, Until looked back upon, Even this known fate, Will inevitably fade, When hindsight is blinded, By yesterday
The only things that we see, Are only things to be seen, Constant attention they too demand, Distrustful eyes invading our psyche, Peering spies pouring over each person, Prying into our most private possessions, Sacred seclusion is sacrificed to secular ceremony,
Is the explorer defined by their ability to find home? To seek familiar shores? No longer among the chaos of a tumultuous sea? No longer floating above a deep expanse? Or is it willing to traverse the depth And acknowledging the necessity To disregard The chasm below? For to contemplate the mystery beneath Would surely incite sheer terror. Is it a confrontation of this horror that we record into legend? Or are the heedless revered? No longer ignorant, And therefore paralyzed, By the awareness now held.
Mouths unable to speak, Eyes unable to witness, This disturbing absence, Confronting our horizons gaze, Like desert sand, That has been frozen, Vacillating between, A Capgras delusion, Or accurate analysis of observatfew.ion,
But what is this death? For whatever will these thoughts produce, But realizing the distance between existence, And our best predicted outcome? Thinking we will all be our own childhoods hero, And enact our noble ideals only to discover A fluid transition between novel and precedent. Is it because the world didn't reflect what we thought it would be, Or did we fail the standards of our own youth? Using comfort to justify our own moral relativism And insulate from inflexible inevitability. But can this be pursued? As we deem it so? Are these the seeds we've sown?
Behold this hollow shell! A once formidable mountain, As it stood tall, Revealing itself, As only a feeble cave, A countenance of fortitude, Crumbled beneath its weight, Into a vacuous interior, Mysterious calderas of volcanoes past,
Birds of Kantian appeal Free fall from what they feel, Aren't heights of hubris , But smothering skies,
Landing in fields of Chesterton, Not caring what is done, To the fences all around, They're arrogant lies!
Unable to remember why it's there, Only that its purpose has been forgotten, Unable to remember what is lost, Only that it has been forgotten.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
