How could we have defecated our own self worth?
Prolonging our progress, only to justify meaning with feeding a hungry machine.
Imagery portraying worthless blind tyrants.
Yet you kiss their feet and spread pedals of worn flowers upon their staining path.
As your tongues lay nailed to the bottom of your jaw, while pulling teeth with feeble hands.
Eyes transfixed on a dying sun, this paper currency is it edible?
May the integrity of this night sky shroud over the ashes from these withering stone built steeples.
Raise the curtain, drop the oars, motion this boat towards land,
Weighing our idle minds as the flutter of the ocean's waves…this is a sinking story.