My Truth...In The End

Monday, December 3, 2012

 

We, who are born of dust
shall crumble to it soon,
Though, none can tell by
what fateful cycle of moon.

Whether we come full circle
or greet end at end of a line,
Not even wisest can tell all
ends to this entangled vine.

So whose truth shall I trust
I've never owned any of mine,
All I know is that I drag life
but a quarter mile at a time.

Life's too unpredictable see
to be thought of that far,
Even predators soaring high
are bound to mortal VFR!

What is what, who is when,
which, where, how and why,
Sorcery of interpretation 'tis
all of it a wretch'd damn lie.

Not of the great halls of
those fabricated dreams,
Nor promise of deliverance
which false messiah feigns.

My end, neither in a heaven
nor in the hell shall meet,
Those are show for privileged
ones who can afford a seat.

Will I ever...ever go yonder
to Golden Halls, I can't say,
Even the ferryman respects
only the customers who pay.

Pay by their great riches
or by even greater deeds,
Before angels above or below
can tend to their eternal needs.

But what of the commoner
who can not pay the price,
In riches, who is humble
nor in deeds is he wise?

Neither tyrant, nor savior
I am your man of regular sin,
My only truth, perhaps, is
the dust I shall crumble in.