Damn you, innocent soul,
for you could not have stayed as you now are.
Life and time will take their toll
and none escape their ever reaching views.
What has you now will lose control.
All were as you are; none have remained so.
Your heart of gold turns to coal;
no one lives and remains a star.
Though now a hill, soon a hole;
a hole you dig with the tools you chose.
Your soul will somehow reach the goal:
the answers to questions you need not know.
Now found out, after all we will be.
Trained are the legs that run so far,
and also the lungs that must carry the breath.
Far from the start these stains shall mar
the hearts and the soula of the wanted and lost.
Down from the heights as a falling star,
falling down from the mountains to the valleys below.
You removed yourself from were to are
and you cannot get back until the day of your death.
But even the ruined may still see the bar,
the bar that was sold at a simply paid cost:
Just enough to be labeled at par
With the ideals of the bliss that stupidity knows.
Now, and not then, you’ll know better than me.
The last of the days you’ve chosen to use
will not be what happens for the last mile,
but all of the options you happen to muse
will stretch out before you as they reach ever more.
And just as the first, so the last shall be too,
though somehow a paradox, as this may seem,
will rise up and take up the mantel it skews
without having the purpose of former smiles.
Perhaps, to advance, as all seem to do,
is also to forfeit what was held before.
The era ere this is not what we choose.
We let go of our hold and, soon after, we dream:
Now, if only, we could be free.
Always the story begins how we know,
but always we fall and we fail as we try
to hold onto Innocence’ hand yet still go
to the tree of the knowledge that causes our shame.
For, despite our intentions, we sink as we grow,
and as often we sin as our fathers before.
What can be said that would prove this not so?
What can we do to make right ere we die?
Is there a way to end this malevolent flow?
Our own hands are the cause of all of our pain.
Our own thoughts will bring us before death row
and even the child will never stay pure.
Now lonely, lost, and forgotten are we.
****
Now found out, after all we will be.
Now, and not then, you’ll know better than me.
Now, if only, we could be free.
Now lonely, lost, and forgotten are we.