A Sublime Delusion

The World was different before the stars fell and the sun went out like
a brilliant flower wilting away into the long night. I was young then,
everything had felt so warm and so very right.
Now the cold surrounds me as the snows drift soundlessly to and fro,
the silence is only broken by the sorrow from my soul.
The World was warmer once, as love was still a possibility, then the
hate spread forth from the wastes of our collective mortality.
Apathy takes the place of morality as the dregs of what is left fill the
spaces in between the places where my heart and life used to be.
the World was brighter once and the future seemed so very clear to me,
but now the fogs have come, the days are blurred beyond distinction
like the details lack definition and my focus fails stupendously.
The balance is gone, we fall in a constant backwards slide
down into oblivion, not knowing that the way out is always with us
our chosen ignorance like a sadly macabre sense of chance
a lasting doomed star crossed ideal of fatalistic insane romance,
the black humor, the ironic futility, the sardonic cruelty, the
idiocentric centrifuge of deniability spins out our destruction
as we plunge headlong into the abyss, eyes wide shut, lusting
for our own demise like ravenous dogs biting at the heels
of forgotten messiahs, reality and time itself stumbles and reels
as existence shatters away form the concept that everything
revolves in this place, as if our very lives were nothing more
than one single simple odd on a cosmic roulette wheel.

The cards have been dealt, the game has been played
I no longer can identify how bad I have felt, or whether I should
have held to my bluff and stayed.
The dance floor is empty, the dancers have left, this is the last
call, I am alone and bereft.
One light remains, spotlit on the floor, should I go stand in it
or just walk out like before?

Our words are like weapons, we always use them to fight,
Our words can heal all wounds, make the wrongs seem right.
This is my two bits, the soap box is still there.
the stars have gone out but I am still here.
I am as the maker made me, imperfect and plain.'
I am the poem and this is my refrain.