When it Stops Turning

We creep towards our destiny
with futures bright as sun
whilst ever-present loneliness
binds us tight as one
a generation lost at sea
like many gone before
a generation’s ecstasy
veils thinly wanting more
a whirling pool of stagnant hate
of self, of world, á Dieu,
no longer trusting peace and love
our rage will see us through
watch the masses tremble, shake
see the children cry
in heritance of misery
passions, waning, die
the world floats by at fingertips
just past the range of reach
frustration with our uselessness
enthusiasm’s leech
we build, destroy, and start anew
blinded by our pride
a cyclical existence
powers our divide
we feel, at best, apart from most
at worst alone, unreal
plodding through a life at rest
with artificial zeal
we hang our hats on triumph
cry bitter at defeat
we anger hot at fortunes foul
we tangle under sheets
at road’s end for all alike
caring not for deeds
waiting is grim providence
with scythe and cloak it leads
ask we not for slipping bonds
of mortal paradigm
all we seek is living’s truth
true meanings of our time
yet struggle us all every day
driving us to dirt
what goods a life in purity
not knowing what it’s worth?
seek we not enlightenment?
haven’t we a right?
to know after years are past
end we in worlds of light?
bleak nothing lies in front of us
and hellscapes lie behind
know nothing of our future
except that we must die