Anchors and Feathers

Every child is born to die,
and the nature of promise is false.
The moment the earth turns its back on the sun,
the sun runs to somebody else.
We live, feral freaks, in our own sun’s reflection
with deception; it’s sad but it’s true.
There is nobody that we can trust,
there is never a deed that is just,
there is only a greed and a lust;
this is us and it’s sad but it’s true.
What have we to achieve?
Fame leads to fealty to faults.
Power leads to hate from results.
Mastery leads others to a halt.
Who then can the feral freaks exalt?
Only themselves; humility in vaults.
Smug pride from insults and assaults.
Take to the windows,
flee to the bridges,
march to the cliffside;
for those with more weighing them down
will be the first to fall.
Take off your masks. Empty your pockets.
Be free of the hatred and ego
for you and your vanity,
delusions, insanity,
like all of us surely will die,
but the slower you freefall
the more time you’ll have to enjoy the moment.
So choose:
will you fall as an anchor or a feather?

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