We are born time travelers,
Constantly drifting away,
Across a vast sea,
Of Time and Change.

We are resilient,
Taking every action to reach,
Across the Great Divide,
To shake hands with tradition.

We are restless,
Dreaming endlessly of somewhere else,
Sometime else,
To fill ourselves.

We are loyal,
Seeking truth in the lies,
We were told in lives before,
To question everything.

We are joyful,
Calling vinyl records and pipes our friends,
As we clench supercomputers and earbuds,
To drown out the sound of progress.

We are unsatisfied,
Claiming a lot in life that has passed away,
We stare at the past and genuflect
To respect the places we will never be.

What are we really?
Just graves stones?
Just our names?

Are we piles of dust before we are born?
Is doom our only joy?
Are we just a piece of puzzle long forgotten?

I like to believe we are more.
I like to believe I'm here for something.
I like to believe anything.

But really, I feel my insignificance instead.

World around me:*
Produce, slave. Move!
Eat.
Sleep.
Produce.
Prognosis – fatal.

Me:
Wow, coffee heals all wounds.
What a beautiful day ahead.
What impressive words I'll have said.
What will they think of me when I'm dead?

World around me:
Remember,
You are replaceable.
You are a cog.
The machine is God.

Me:
What about a drive,
A good read,
A pipe on the porch and a walk?

I rely on an empty countenance,
A guise to hide the storm behind my eyes.
The world needs a smile and a hammer.
I thrive on words.
I survive on heart.

A black flag frees its soul to the wind,
Enslaved to the hearse it precedes.

Colors of an ironic freedom hit the pavement,
Guiding the wheels that lead the wretched home.

No one follows.

No one asks whose parade this is.

No one reads a ******* eulogy.

No one will weep for the silent heart wilting in its flowery dream.

I should be dead by now.

I ought to fall from these branches.

I was destined to perish.

But Autumn is yet to come,

As is the best.