We've known the answers for a long time.
Hidden in our brains.
We fight the knowledge.
Refusing to believe that this is all there is.
Nothing more.
Stories, movies, songwriters and lovers might say otherwise,
But we still know the truth; and we will struggle against it, always.
Anger burns,
And this is why our children rage with gunfire.
We are destroyers of worlds,
But there are no more enemies and no God.
Nothing more.
We have become like gods, you and I
In the blind illusions of desire.
Delusions that somehow a cook is not so valuable as a consultant.
Technicians more necessary than poets.
We damn ourselves for wanting, and for believing the new lies.
They are lies, you know,
Pro patria mori.
But there is so much more than anger; comfort, more than we know.
But there is nothing, I suppose, so beautiful
As a mother holding her new infant,
Or love's first laughter, freshly captured in memory, or
Fixing to a canvas, to never move nor fade, for ever.