Bare, the green
Empty of people
Of life
But for one lone wanderer
People in the park
Fifty feet away
Do they wonder
Or believe they know
Why they're here
Or where they go
In the distance, I can see
A church steeple
That fountain of lies
They claim to know
The how's and why's
Of our existence
Of our strife
It is but an ******
To dull existential ache
To those who are not fooled
It has a bitter taste
Still, the grass is vacant
My hands, they shake
I used to stand up in high places
And fancy, I could see
The whole world, see everything
Stretching out in front of me
I am older now, and not so misty eyed
I see but a placeholder
A thing waiting to die
The tiny ant does not worry
Or count it's passing days
I think that our intelligence, has harmed us in some ways
We know too little, think too much
Try to mark the nothingness
To scratch, to scar
The endless void
We claw, and clutch
At meaning, purpose
These frail, ghostly things
Spectre of a ghost
Shadow of a shadow
These things, they die with us
There is no Eldorado
This is all I know