I Up the escarpment where the wind has stripped the trees of their leaves I saw Truth hiding in her threadbare clothes, starved and hollowed A pale, grey feeble smile flashed and disappeared She will not die She will not die despite the universal claim For Truth is central to life even if few will believe There is nothing I can do for her because I am not here Neither dream nor real or the product of imagination It occupies the mind as a distant echo too faint to hear Or a mere observation far removed tunneled deep into memory So only the feeling remains. Come with me. We are moving to the edge of the undefined and dark Listen you can hear a child’s laughter drifting in wind The echoes of momentary joy The innocence can almost make you forget That he will learn to weep soon enough And the days are coming when he will scarcely remember When he didn’t. II There is a nameless darkness spreading like ink Silent, it fills the intellect of men Certainty dwells where Humility was Indifference laughs at heroism and Contempt for innocence is a cultural cascade Open your eyes and see while you can. You can drift by people every day where the darkness has been Their eyes are full of life and optimism but they are dead inside Despair by choice but not by feeling, Where gratitude once existed there is only discontent Driving desperate dreams of perfection. But Reality does not conform or bend to the will of man So they satisfy their cravings of solipsistic perfection by eating their own They hunger for Utopia that is always arriving but never staying, Punishing an army of enemies who drove it away. Who will pay for what you deserve? The dark mind is lost in a world so large It is no longer a world of measured bounds but a pointless, empty, expanse. Adventurers in lassitude on a map of despair Featureless, endless, meaningless They are ever searching in larger circuitous routes. Beginning with discontent and ending in discontent Satisfaction will not be obtained. They fill infinitiy’s frames with materialist distractions Joyful in the now; desperate in the eternal Waiting not for revelation but decimation. A fusion of emotion in a riot of madness Sexual desire, loathing and joy blending to one. Along the road I found a message today. Dropped in an empty bottle of malt liquor It had a brown drinking bag twisted around the neck And round the twist flies danced across the surface I kicked the bottle as I stepped over it The message fell out into the gutter It read “You have been deceived. Don’t believe it. The evil never tire and the good are exhausted.” But who is good? III Perfect preceded the imperfect and road back no man can take. Among the world weary, rich in experience of decadent displays They can sense the nothing at the end They will by any means build eternal man A body of infinite repair five hundred years hence A life to span the millennia. Money cannot raise perfect children But it can raise perfect monsters Transhuman spawn Living across boundless space and time Imagining it can spit in the face of God Eternal worldly life will surely make us monsters For even as the drug addict seeks higher highs So too does the dark mind seek Obliteration from the map of despair.