Purpose

Dread.
Dread and despair.
Both set in.
Eventually,
In due time.

Nothing is as it should be.
Nothing is right.
Nothing is perfect.
Nothing.
Beautiful.

The pure glory of
Oblivion drives us
Mad.
We can't handle the
Nothing.
Can't handle living
Without given
Purpose.

We look to the gods,
The lords,
Eachother ,
And the drug
For such a calling.

Inevitably,
Failing to find the
Answer.
Our gods are hollow,
Our lords, liars.
The man beside you is misguided
And the drug,
The drug doesn't know.

The only thing that is
Right,
Is the heart.

Reviews

[JesusOM]

Awesome poem, but may I ask for something?
In lines:

Nothing is as it should be.
Nothing is right.
Nothing is perfect.
Nothing.
Beautiful.

Is nothing the beauty, or is everything deprived of beauty?
Besides that, awesome poem :D

[The Poet of Black Wings]

Mmmmm both, really.