Spirit of Our Time

This was something that pained me.
How this idea had taken thee,

With your distinction, as I belied.
And mourned a world passing us by.

I hoped and prayed for its return.
Seems I had so much to learn.

Of what is, what was and what to be,
What it might mean to become free.

For I broke free, free at last.
Yet I still mourned for the past.

And I found freedom to be lacking,
Without meaning, without backing.

I saw it turn, I was a witness.
You did not, with my forgiveness.

I found myself all alone,
Courtesy of all I’d been shown.

I saw what I could not unsee.
No word, no promise, no guarantee.

A fortress built with bricks of fiction,
Upon the restless and affliction.

I failed and failed to explain,
What had happened, and who to blame.

The madness gained life of its own.
Its quiet end would not be shown.

For it transformed, it had defined,
Our sense and spirit of our time.