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.
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