What should we question if not ourselves?  
The coming of days?
The renewal of thirst?
No. Such things are certain.
Send your thoughts elsewhere
Let them keep company among
the troubles of tomorrow.
Inclined to such foolish lives,
we breath for our fashions.
I beg you to remind me of a time,
when I might have lived for more.

Why should peace come only
to those who are in His favor?
Surely all desire such a gift.

Perhaps we are still struggling
to earn such clemency.
Hush, your time will come.

Of all the truths
the blessing of birth brings,
let them bear witness.

It is, that time gives one all it has.
And if regret should lie in anything -
it will be in ceasing not that which is always present.

Such as a mother love.
Nothing is greater.

There are many like me here-
sitting
well
spaced.
Our prayers fill the air
like hymns filling silence.

Valid lines; knowing their potential for inspiration
replace a growing lack of education,
befuddled into breeding violence.
The beginning sings and the ignorant march on.

Elicit passion from little thought,
entertaining the toils our country has brought
before the world to see.
Following blindly, the ignorant march on.

Ye of little faith let me condemn you,
for I sit upon a throne of a hundred shoes.
Miles and miles I have walked - with blisters to prove
That hand in hand, the ignorant march on.

Obsessed with the pursuit of pain we entertain,
ridiculous ideas lacking any notion to gain
anything but wasted time.
And at the end of the day the ignorant march on.

Out of practice and lacking poise,
fumbling blindly through our boisterous ways,
we seek change without commitment,
leading others to join, the ignorant as they march on.

To find somewhere safe,
we live in fear,
foreign lands,
teaching the understanding of confusion.

Oh, but to go everywhere,
we will challenge life itself.
And it will shake,
with the might of our potential.

When I know nothing else,
not where to place faith,
nor how to distinguish,
the blurring of days.
The town burns without fire,
coursing through,
scatterings decorate the streets;
conglomerated brew.
Runes of lives no longer lived.
Forgotten by disaster, I survived.
Refusing warrant.
Mental transcendence; torrent.
I hear you talking but I don’t listen
When did we become these people?
Lacking vision.

Find me the conditions conducive to life,
and I will be unable to find any fulfilled.
It is in our nature always
to want, mass, more, supplementary.
Without quench will be need.
Possibly more?
Will one brave; lonely and just, be enough?
Life only prolonging a barmy parody
until confronted with one of seven?
Found guilty on all accounts,
failing even, to screen their future.