A desperate mocking claws at my mind,
Though each piece arranged in a row
All those things I’ve been reaping,
I now must sow.
But I cannot but wonder
As I straighten my back once more
All these neatly packaged rhythms,
What are they for?
As every memory is organized numerically
As the color blue loses it’s name
To become a shade, I wonder
Are each of us trapped inside of a game?
Or are there merely a few.
In the cosmic ballroom,
Does destiny dance with us differently?
Or does it’s judgement
Expand beyond the canvas that I see?
Does it choose you, does it choose me?
As the dawning of reality subsides
Into the morning of possibility,
How do I step away from this canvas,
And perceive this scene in actuality?
How, when all the music changes
And the mood that permeates in our swaying
Suffers the side effect of time,
Can I choose what the DJ will be playing?
I’m sifting through the rubble
scanning the destruction before me for a glimmer.
In this desperate time, the once
magnificent and glorious light begins to dimmer.
there is something new I now understand.
All things are locked into a pattern,
each day turns into night and then again
the leaves fall and the winter comes
the snow melts and I try again.
We only ever exist in the present moment.
Behind us lies the infinitesimal links that lead to now
and before us are the endless pathways of fate.
What, from what has been, do I wish no longer?
What now do I wish more than ever?
Standing now on the cusp of ruin.