The world I gave myself to shakes around me,
groaning itself into it's erroneous dance
the world outside leaking inward like the holes
in an ancient boat, once strong and resilient, now
worn and tattered by years of abuse.
The world I cherished begins to crumble around me
the Ideals that bore Knights of the old Chivalry, now
seem to fade as did it's ancient predecessors, buried
between eons of indulgence and selfishness, lost to
all but a few long toothed grayhairs who still tell of days
long past.
The world I held to my heart, begins to attach itself to the
drumming of my burdens, promising a moment of clarity with
each drawing breath, only to exhale in bitter denial, hands
once full and strong, now wither and I look apon them, as if
they were the betrayers of this faith.
They cast no look back at me, a sign of wear apon my fingertips
the only expression given.
The world that was ours to build, benign and full of pride and love,
now begins to ascend the mountain of Babylon,
the rulers of the realm begin to fall prey to the outside wars they must face,
being forced to overlook indescrepencies and misdeeds in lieu of larger, more prominant callings.
Those who we call to battle, once virtuous, strong and true, now shuffle armored feet and falter in adversity,
not wanting to strike the killing blow to their true enemy.
Within me, is a soul dying to be reborn. The world promised me this reincarnation of the spirit,
showing me all that the outside was devoid of. Now I watch it from within the shroud,
noting and observing and experiencing it's nature much more
efficiently than when I first became one of them.
The light from which all the goodness originates,
seems dim amongst the grey and black coverings of the
outside world that grabs the weak with sticky black hands,
encouraging many to denounce themselves and their virtues,
with promise of different fullfillments.
The world I hope for slips through worn, tired fingers.
I watch as their Ideals once held so tightly,
begin to move like sand, and I am unable to grasp the grains
fast enough to hold what is left of my hopes and dreams in
this world of creativity and anachronism.
Stumble!