Traject

Struggle led to pain,
And the pain led to gain.

Successful in that ploy,
From the gain sprung some joy.

Joy did bring a certain peace,
Barely savored in the least.

For the peace was quite a bore,
And we yearned for something more.

It’s a cycle, it preforms,
It is how the world transforms.

We’re still fighting the last war,
With no mind of what’s in store.

Do these cycles have a meaning?
Is something more intervening?

Can we ever find the why?
Before this time passes by?

If the pawn commands the game.
Game would never be the same.

We’re finding comfort in a show.
As it’s not for us to know.

A world propelled by the craze.
Maybe that is how it stays,

In ever states of change.
And change that’s always strange.

It’s no wonder that we miss,
As we swirl in the abyss.

Taking refuge in our bias.
To our fictions staying pious.

Despite foundations that now quake.
The type of world we’d like to make,

Is already quite at hand,
And far better than we planned.

That our time is but an arrow.
Its trajectory quite narrow.

It reveals where it came from.
And its path is far from done.

Since it’s better than before,
There’s an aim for something more.

Bigger burdens, more demands.
Let past riddles now remand.

Because the answers that we need,
Spring from the trace of arrow’s lead.