Where do we stand upon this thing?
The fall, the rot, what it will bring.
The winds came up, the storm, it grew.
How long before we’ve made it through?
Have our troubles even started?
Will we recall when we’ve parted,
From our sense, from our peace,
From myths our fortune wouldn’t cease?
How I am troubled by the thought,
That all of this might be for naught.
That we won’t live to see the day,
When we find the come what may.
I am lonely, I’m filled with dread.
I’m wide awake in my bed.
Was giv-en the curse of knowing.
I sense the reap and feel the sowing.
Seeing things I can’t unsee,
In this world of make belie(ve).
Maybe this is an excuse,
To hide myself, to not produce.
Maybe this presents a choice,
To find my strength, to give it voice.
Maybe this is more than rife,
To begin, to live a life.
Maybe all that led to these,
Should provide a sense of ease.
That things have turned alas, before.
That I can handle what’s in store.
That there is a bigger plan.
That life is more than a span.
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