the walls build up with
soot and moss.
draping their greenery
about with the slight
impression of charm.
it's chaos in the valley
footprints on the moon
and so many blocked off
barricades, holding back
forces that our normal
faculties aren't capable
of remedying. the wall
that holds back tomorrow
slowly disintegrates
and the anticipation
fades into background
noise cutting off any
enigma that may have
raised its head, unheard.
so many times there may
have been some enlightenment
but it always was swallowed
by the truth the world holds;
that there may be no truth
at all, that all of this
is facade, a radiating
pastime of the elder years
taunting us,
tormenting us,
giving displays of
pedestaled daisies yearning
for that last bit
of solitude, gripping at
the abyss. do we go forward
anymore or do we sit
and wallow in our merriment?
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