what are we doing here?
who are we?
could it be mere animals of evolution,
or something more?

consciousness,
thought simply resultant biomechanics
instinct propelling us forward on
rails laid by the genetic makeup of mankind
common sense or even decency
impossible to intercede impossible to
pry wheel of raging cart from track

dominance destruction greed consumption
a white knuckle ride
maniac grin adorning psychotic visage
speed bumps people, morals and expression
all for the powerful's possession
riding the narrow rails of instinct's destiny
until
wall struck impossible to penetrate
regardless weight of gold and accumulation
from society's centre outward the world to explode
choking to death on our own exhalation
drowning in the sea of our own consumption

the absence of empty filling this suit
hope that there might be another way
another path or at least reason
a hand better suited the lost to guide
to veer us from this path—
this societal suicide

a means to explain inner inclination
my inside bigger than the outside
spirit locked within a jar
a vessel
contained dimension not fitting this dimension
ethereal hands pressing against its walls
screaming internal
I want out
freedom home
though the path to which
the unknown
terrifying to the core
this longing
to be somewhere, but
knowing I shouldn't be in a hurry to go
spoken not by word but emotion

I would not tempt with trick of parlour
too insignificant to make demand
in bed, eyes closed
feeling connection to foreign land
speaking inside my mind
not alone in the dark
yet there lay no one next me
is that you,
scratching at the wall of recessed psyche?
behind, hiding passage to infinite knowledge
awareness obscured from consciousness' sight
for a time
for my existence as a man
until the end
until those final frightful moments
then
when hope and terror stand as equals opposing
might I finally realize spirit's truth,
or cease altogether—never to know