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You are going to fall

Brace your self to brawl

For your destiny

Exhausting your chesty

And living off

Each breath as if

The next were not guaranteed

Because this is the seed

Life grew from

A stenciled conundrum

Found in fellowship of a bee

And flowers reigning free

Where wind and sail

Chart the way askew the frail

You are going to fall

And you will want to crawl

And scout for crumbs

Until the knee bends and becomes

The servant of tribulation

Bowing to the puppeteers' constitution

Torn from self

You decorate the shelf

With accolades past and present

Idolizing the image you rent

From a faceless Lord

Who hands you the cord

To dangle your corpse

All in benevolence

Of pampering the collective consciousness

Filling the emptiness

With gurus, trinkets and wealth

Anything but the breath

That keeps alive

The entire hive

From a single exhale

That keeps a greeny dale

To the heart that beats once

Giving you one last chance

One last glance

At the ball of fire

A tapestry of ancient Maya.

Created: May 19, 2017

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