Alone

What are we to do?
What are we to say?
When the world falls apart,
and we grasp at our final day.
When we at last depart,
into an even deeper gray.
When the world is no longer art,
having fallen off the display.

Have we lived well?
Or has life been hell?
Have we reached our potential,
or are we just inconsequential?

Maybe life was full of strife.
Or perhaps it was penitential.
Maybe torrential?
Prudential?
Whatever the case,
life is essential.
We live because it's expected.
Yet, we become so resentful.

Rejected.
Infected,
with a known sickness.
We've defected,
to a form of weakness.
Writhing, weak, and weary,
we discover a truth un-known.
Nothing is there to keep us believing,
It's all so over-blown.
Nothing is there to keep our lungs breathing,
our heart beating.
So, we continue dieing.
Alone.

by Xenoz
posted on 10/22/2009