Inanitas e odia (Prose)

Do we sit down,
Resting our feet,
Expecting an eternal sunrise?
Do we ere in our way,
Sending time to a wildflower,
Expecting results akin to heaving Atlas?

Is it the beach,
Where boredom lay,
In an eternal struggle to find meaning,
Or the Shadowman,
Torn down and ripped apart,
And thrown into a world of speed,
That exist in the mind of our dream?

When we submit to it,
Will it break our back,
And rip us asunder,
Or just steal everything we owned?
To find out its Justice,
In a fortress,
And a Jail,
Did we make a mistake,
In creating it in the first place?

And the birds that sit outside the kitchen window,
Full of seeds and fruit and berries,
Did they ever figure out,
What would make this world merry?

I sit on a porch,
Cradling my drink,
Snoozing in the afternoon sun,
Waiting and watching,
The clouds outside this empty house,
As I ponder what I had done...

ISA