You are going to fall
Brace your self to brawl
For your destiny
Exhausting your chesty
And living off
Each breath as if
The next were not guaranteed
Because this is the seed
Life grew from
A stenciled conundrum
Found in fellowship of a bee
And flowers reigning free
Where wind and sail
Chart the way askew the frail
You are going to fall
And you will want to crawl
And scout for crumbs
Until the knee bends and becomes
The servant of tribulation
Bowing to the puppeteers' constitution
Torn from self
You decorate the shelf
With accolades past and present
Idolizing the image you rent
From a faceless Lord
Who hands you the cord
To dangle your corpse
All in benevolence
Of pampering the collective consciousness
Filling the emptiness
With gurus, trinkets and wealth
Anything but the breath
That keeps alive
The entire hive
From a single exhale
That keeps a greeny dale
To the heart that beats once
Giving you one last chance
One last glance
At the ball of fire
A tapestry of ancient Maya.