A Poem!

O for.....

I am not a wise man. I am not a genius.
I'm not even a smart man,
Just a grub in the filth and grime.
Cut to ribbons inside my cocoon.

Out of the blue and into the black,
And once I'm gone I can't come back.
Ain't that right, Mr. Young?

Black-and-blue contusions.

I see repetition, I see blindness, I see failure.
While dead gods lie beneath your feet,
Their flames long since snuffed, their bodies pallid and molested.
Legacies ethereal and receding,
Dying tides and hairline fractures.
It makes me wonder about our doom,
Lonely, little mortal lives.
Spiraling into oblivion.