Never Ending Bridge
We’re simple, indirectly purposeful, those rows of conformers
line up with heads bowed, lost mourners,
the hoarders of all that is reachable, but alas,
good deeds aren’t news worthy, and real ones
aren’t teachable.
The man who risks his life to save another is given
medals and respect and pretty decorated ribbons, his
heroics are remembered and treasured, to show what
is good about us, the most important race,
the human one, and it doesn’t matter if this man is
abusive, because we already concluded what was
necessary to deduce, this one act wipes away any
other negativity, and will be remembered for the
longevity of his years. But will it matter in the end?
when he dies will he be surrounded by real friends?
or will you be there, and stare at his personal hole,
here’s a fuck you as we bury you in the Earth’s ass.
I’m here because it looks good, and makes me feel
better about my past.
Oh the irony that is life, how can people not see
that they can make a difference, we’re told every
little thing counts and we believe it, until we are old,
then thinks start to matter less, are we becoming
less dense? Or is it just more advice filling out heads.
Maybe it’s common sense or…free will.
God must hate us.
And plus, the consensus of the skeptics is that
less trust means more for us. More problems and
complications from situations that we tell ourselves
we can deal with on our own. The world is my
oyster we tell ourselves. But someone jacked the pearl.
So we press on, now just trying to make it to the next day,
tomorrow is so far away, and long term goals? Don’t
make me laugh less I choke on the small bite I took
from hope, another joke no one is laughing at,
Our lives go on, drones in God’s ant farm, and
don’t be alarmed when your time expires, that’s what
they tell us heaven is for, and when people come to you
funeral, you will look down and see your real friends, and
those who think they need to feel bad, hear them say
“There he is, just another fallen champion
who tried too hard for too long and is down for the
count.
Count.
One,
Step in the general direction of perfection
that adds to the neglection of heroic
imperfections.
Two,
Glances backwards at the past that at last
is fading fast, how much trouble can one
amass?
Three,
Strikes before failure comes, and life is begun
with the fading sun, no light shines on the
shunned.
One, Two, Three, and life is summed up,
as we walk the never ending bridge between
success and failure, the past and the present,
we’re forever stuck in the middle.
We’re going nowhere.
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