Rushing to break the latest news
the modern corporate muse
little thought for the truth of what is
only for a thing they can react to or dismiss
A standard pattern, a story they can tell
an image we buy, and they sell.
Collateral damage they don’t discern
to them its of little concern.
The impact of the tale all that matters,
as amongst all our brains it scatters
get people riled up,
get people certain, if only of a lie
a shared story, an illusion to descry.
Then with immunity can people act
as they always wanted, with little grace or tact.
But for a short span sure of themselves,
confident and on a mission
no wavering over their decisions
a powerful force.
All from that grand source
the corporate news
the dumbest ever muse.
There is a shadow that follows me around,
it chills me like laying on icy ground.
It is soundless, but reverberates through my spine
forever doubting the good and the fine.
It is speechless, but tells me how to act
never on impulse, always composed and with tact.
This shadow I would like to discard
to be free to live, not forever on guard.
But I cannot do this, nothing will I let pass
not individually, nor en masse.
I will take my own lie first,
over this worlds evil curse.
Determined, focused, on the goal at hand
Positioned at the locus, in a hole I stand.
In a groove of my own making
on the fateful course I am taking.
Patient, steady, calmly smiling
In joy, away, the time is whiling
I can be nowhere else, I am where I must be
It’s becoming ever more clear and easy to see.
It is not a confinement, a prison or trap.
It is my definement, no sign of a scrap.
The perfect moment, the perfect place
The now point of the eternal race.
Reaching out for some hope:
a clear and meaningful scope.
A good reason for why I am here,
for why deep pain and pleasure lie so near.
Looking for the answer in prayer
on the verge of madness and despair.
Believing god must hold the key
to the door out I failed to see.
Awaiting a response, awaiting a word.
I continue in pursuit of the absurd.
A wanderer of the lands
a drifter over the sands
making do with the little he can find
in this mentally taxing grind
pursued with vigor and resolve
primed only to evolve
till death always to roam
never to return home.
Don’t give me chaos, I find it quite obscene
Give me order, structure, give me routine!
The void and the vacuum I abhor
They make me shiver to the core
They take the value from life
replacing it with a placeless strife
There is comfort in the predictable
the safe and non-contradictable.
People say creativity comes from the void,
from the primal energy of blank screens,
but I bet those people would be annoyed
if I took away their beloved routines.
Lets take from you, your regular sleep
then we’ll see if your ideas are so deep
Lets take from you, your nourishing meals
then we’ll see if your flourishing peals.
Lets take from you, your regular contact with others
then we’ll see if anything creative you can discover.
Sure, periods of hardship, from these we can learn
a new motivation and passion they can spurn
But please don’t utter the obscene,
don’t dare tell me you need no routine!