What is life
if not just a mockery?
What do we gain, in the end?
All we do is plod
one foot
after the other
after the other
after the other
tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow
looking back becomes the same as looking forward.
Too slowly
yet too quickly
creeps in this petty pace from day to day.

Sinking below the waves,
I can't hear the crashing and rumbling above me
nor see the light from which I'm falling from
It seems to fade
out
out
like a brief candle.
Life's but
a walking shadow,
a mockery,
a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
hurrying to do
all he can,
more than he can,
and then is heard no more.

I draw comfort from the darkness.
No wind to chill me.
No cries
no weeps
no sobs
no energy to swim up but I don't care the least
or do I?

A moment of panic.

Suddenly everything disappears.
Don't worry
Someone just turned off the lights
It's only that
No need to be afraid
I'm not afraid.
Not afraid
Not afraid
Not afraid
And whoever says I am is a coward.
See? I'm not afraid!
Whoever--

...whoever?
There is no one.

In a flash of brightness
that I would have seen
and that would have blinded me
if I had eyes anymore
that would have deafened me
if I has ears anymore
I realize that
I am nothing.

And yet I
was
am
will be
everything.

Broken free from the master control
Relational toll-gates
Now free my soul in
Hardening automations and
Spiritual breaks
Whilst waiting for the train home
And lobotomy hits
You feel a chill in the air
And you flatten the slits
Of your eyes
Blind to the world
But realizing that nothing is real
Nor fake nor something replicate(d)
From what is not
To be or not
To be and pause
….rewind the thoughts….
And in the replay
Foreplay or this orgy of madness
And sadness
I don’t know what to blame
I can’t feel the pain
I’m just hardwired to tell you
It’s the same
Is it not
This pain and distraught-
Fullness
Of life
No longer simply pain and strife
It’s now a knife
….
Is that a dagger I see?
….
Perhaps not
It’s the illusional knot,
The Gordian knot
Believe or not
Because it’s here
In your mind
Not far or near
It’s hardwired in
Just beyond the seer
The spirit that is within.

To be frank, this is an embarrassing poem
There is no rhyme, nor rhythm required to understand the meaning,
Nor maddening implications and allegorical,
and possibly biblical, nonsense and/or bullshit
depending on your perspective of communicative accuracy.

I have a problem, one likely to cause insanity if remained unchecked.
Unfortunately there is no cure, no reprise, no relief, no allieviation of the maddening train of logic which has further caused "this problem"
How long is the trail of life, and where does it end?
Rather where does it begin, in a spiritual sense
(not physical; that's too obvious)
Where do I go, I the follower who is self aware of what he follows...
And "the problem" is that I follow nothing
I know nothing of the principle
nor of the ends, nor of the means, nor of the man or woman pulling the strings.
Even now, I could possibly be tugged at and pulled into pressing the keys with leaden hands.

But I feel desire for what is intangible,
something that no man can tell me, but neither can I contrive.
Perhaps an experience, or is that a hallucination
or is that enlightenment, the nirvana of the fount of science.
I am a man of Science, you know.

Should I die?
Maybe the stains of perverse desire for what cannot be
will eventually drive the stakes and knives, the blades of betrayal into the eyes of those I care about.
So is that honor to die before that or is that cowardice?
Or is that self sufficient reason for seppuku, an honorable death by my own hands?

Or am I already dead, free to build heaven and hell over the course of time?

They say time is money, you know.

Regardless, this concludes the problem to which there is no solution.
Self destruction is sacrilegious
and regardless, it shows the lack of appreciation for those who raise me.
Whether deserved or not deserved, I have no reason to bring that upon to them.
Must not the worker be paid for his work?
And what of their psyche? Do they not know more than I?
They do.
And that's precisely the point.
For it doesn't take a psychologist to know that I really
really, really
Don't have a clue about what to do with my life.
There is no solution because to die is wrong and to live living a lie is worse, and to live doing nothing will destroy others.
Do I sacrifice happiness to ensure the happiness of others?
Do I let the world around me melt into whitened walls so that I may center myself as the center of the world?
Do I live a lie, lose identity, and lose myself in death's equivalent?

And lose of identity is death's equivalent.
There are millions, if not billions of people on the earth,
Trillions more among the stars.
What identifies me is my only distinct piece of private property
Among those living and dead.
It means more than sex with a beautiful woman or man
It means more than one's country unless that is one's identity
It means more than any cause that is introduced to you unless your mind becomes firmly set, unwavered on that train of thought and the train of thought would've have become your identity by then.

But from the objective view,
one makes a identity that is a given and
to reject all things not 100% agreed upon may also be a given
subconsciously
then consciously we all live lies to survive and without those who accept the truth we lose the truth, dull our minds into stupidity and madness and our pretending eats us and our being no longer becomes our being.

...

We lose who we are to our instinct to survive, and we become no more than animals.
Intelligently instinctual to live together in vain, anyone who is more will most certainly die, seppuku, before their culture of nature becomes anymore than nonsense to the bewildered sanity of man.

We are demonlords who slay knights
who slay demonlords to save princesses
who have them captured to die rescuing them
who live rescuing them to die defending them
who slays another knight from the kingdom to be a demonlord.

And you wonder why there is no peace?

Regardless, there is no more time. I will return at dawn.

How lightened are you, my old friend
Have you lost weight?
You look starved from the doldrums of time
There was so much happiness that I nearly forgot to see you
But I'm glad that you visited. Come sit. We have much to discuss.

It goes beyond war, perhaps, that those feel sadness again
It leaks, so it seems. And war itself is not the only crack in me anymore.
Once it was, just like the crack of dawn or the crack that so~ many seem into these days

But old friend, lost spirit, you've seemed to have taken a room that was previously occupied.
Insanity, this room once belonged to Hope.