Through the dramas of what we call the modern age,
With its disorder plainly seen.
Searching for answers amongst the constellations
For a lost paradise that may, or may not have been.
–
Our voices stolen by the vastness of the universe.
Gods worshiping gods, with the old gods losing ground.
And all such unreported things, like unfinished poems,
Like something triggered in the core, but not yet found.
The scattered patterns of the cosmos fail to compliment nature’s art.
Locks turning, wheels moving, a great swirling in the sky.
Scripted thoughts for the masses, in harmony with their lot,
With the disposal of all that’s temporal standing by.
–
The fear found when the ticking stops,
As by forcing a puzzle’s piece in place,
All hiding and seeking gradually dissolves,
While hope runs on apace.
–
Any love of life is a recovered loss
Within the dearest part of a mortal heart.
Lives fleeting with the scattered light,
Each fulfilling some unknown part.
–
Internet sycophants now follow their familiar paths.
With imperfect symmetry found in Babylon,
And goodwill lays cold on the doorstep of lunacy,
While we use the hidden warmth of charity,
Grasp whatever we can find,
And staunchly soldier on.