Abandoned

"Man makes rules; nature makes laws."

Through hard won experience and generational entropy

Drenched in deranged corruption of a nightmarish intensity,

We've long perfected the fall from grace, 

And neither are there gods or nymphs left to weep for our disgrace. 

Did they drown in tears lamenting our insanity, 

Our insatiable greed and nihilistic vanity?

When the god-man hung from a tree dangling by a thread from heaven

Did he see more in a breath

Than our sad myopia even in countless eons?

"Send us a savoir!" the people cried. 

"For the love of God, let us not be denied!" 

While unbeknownst to them nearby

Wild imagery stirred in a hapless wanderer's eyes, 

Primordial visions of the spiraling stars as a kind of fertilizer

To grow more chaotic beings in a new cycle, 

An adumbration of what's to come, 

The old drama resurrected to compliment our decadence.

Should anyone care to examine this wanderer more closely

They might find that he has unusually strong lungs, 

And when he climbs to the highest peak and shouts:

"I am abandoned!" 

You can be sure that all who hear will understand. 

Like a smokestack billowing from infernal toxic waste, 

His hopeless fate tries furiously to find its way to the light, 

Reaching out with with raven's claws to scratch the pall of the night. 

And so like many wretched, the wanderer hangs his head,

"I am cursed," more than once escapes his dry lips, 

His once sure hand betrayed by leathery finger tips,

When imprecations and temptations creep into his vicinity, 

Like leeches preying on his vitality, 

And his vilest hour comes back to haunt him, 

So many years ago on that forsaken day, 

When everything good in his life was martyred and hurled at disaster. 

Courting base passions in a hospice of undesirables, 

Like a cannibal taking refuge with a haunted infidel, 

And neither a stranger to this curious miasmas, 

A herald to a life broken in pieces decidedly noxious, 

Our wanderer carefully fathoms the full extent of his mettle, 

His decline now coming full circle. 

A lifetime of betrayed affection and shattered illusions, 

A plaything of laughing hags and angel's persecutions, 

He had been a window shopper at a w***e factory

When not walking through ruins in mindless docility. 

Then a rabid hand in the form of a scepter

Pierced his heart and bade him remember:

His brief childhood and the remarkable splendor 

Of a few accomplishments enjoyed

Before marrying them to ruin, 

Lest they betray his terrible secret, 

The only truth he knows befitting his station, 

The incurable infamy of life and inevitable annihilation. 

But despite all this and unforgiving more, 

The spiraling stars remain,

Reminding us of where we came from and what we must endure, 

This chaotic struggle that exists simply because it must, 

From spirit to matter, and matter to dust. 

With tired eyes and ache in every bone, 

What more is there to do but die or carry on?

At least when misery is your friend you never suffer alone.