The journey was not meaningless,
but what purpose did it hold?
The memories are sweet,
though bitter they may be.
Almost too bitter for a lone soul to bare.
In the end, they are nothing;
not even there.
In the end,
nothing is there.
Screams may fill the air,
the sound may be deafening,
but there is no escaping.
Too many people won’t bring themselves to care
about the sound, about their neighbours, about humanity.
We are not alone,
but we have never been in a crowd.
We are not hopeless,
but hope is running out.
We are not doomed,
but salvation never seems to come.
How do you hold on
when there is nothing left to grasp?
How do you pull yourself out of a hole
when the rocks are filed smooth?
Who do you turn to
when the backs keep turning?
And when it’s all over,
who remembers you?
Murdered at the hands of leaders
who won’t bring themselves to see the errors.
The fear keeping the eyes closed
so the bliss of ignorance never goes.
The end brought by the ego
too proud to say a single word.
Some way, peace will come.
It may come bloodied with an axe,
bringing forth more suffering than ever before.
But eventually that will be the end.
The chaos, the fighting,
the wars, the hatred,
the pain, and then
The final scream
signifying the end of pain forever.
Though completely avoidable,
if not for the willingness to not see
that which does not serve you.
The rotting bags of flesh,
the smell of sweet death,
the emptiness of the souls,
and the hurt now left.
All at the cost of everyone.
All at the hands of humanity’s pride.
