And The Band Played On

But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God – having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them. II Timothy3:1-5

Pain becomes the new laughter,
sorrow the flavor of the day,
hurtful words
the drug of choice,
lovers of self,
stone cold shells,
hearts of steel,
anything goes
in make believe worlds
where nothing is real,
sliding into depths
of decadence and decay;

and the band played on.

We soothe the fear
while hiding the emptiness,
making way for a tomorrow
full of distant despair,
time passes by,
madness breeds the future,
breathing life
into strange new creations
with no room for mercy
or compassion;

and the band played on.

We want reassurance,
we want good times,
we want vindication,
we want guarantees;

and the band played on.

Inside the flesh rots
like butter
in the warm summer sun,
continually searching,
continually seeking,
new horizons among the chaos,
feeding off the lust,
surviving on the greed,
drowning in the filth,
laying waste
to all that moves,
misunderstanding the new art,
and at the end of the day
emptiness all that is left;

sometimes survival
is recreation enough.

We live life in moments,
monuments frozen in time,
desperately holding on,
hopelessly watching,
slipping like smooth silk sand
through our porous fingertips.

We are flawed,
everyone of us,
it is not of our doing,
but we are flawed
just the same,
imperfections within the rubbish,
scarred bloody stumps
of all that we could have been,
all that should have been,
fit for nothing
but the furnace fire,
without defense,
without hope,
pointing fingers and shaking our heads,
feeling somehow superior,
above the filth,
better than the ‘sinners’,
but inside
we are all the same,
grubby little insects
seeking redemption,
crying out in pain
without making a sound,
tear down the walls,
never let them rise again,
replace the darkness
with the light,
let it shine into the cold
black night;

no matter how hard we try
we can never put it out.

Something is lost
within this carnivorous cavern,
prosperity weakens
in the face of disaster,
with destruction
comes renewal,
with death
begins life,
won’t You help me
find the door?
won’t You show me
the truth?
won’t You rescue me
from the storm?

Like a river it flows,
sometimes violent,
sometimes gentle,
on and on,
no beginning,
no end;

like a mighty wind it blows,
from here to there,
from where no one knows,
to where even less;

heroes and hormones never die,
they go on and on forever
in this wilderness where
the sun never sets,
inside hallowed halls of glory
filled with words of hope,
the midday shadows grow long,
the hunger remains the same
despite twists and turns,
assuming new shapes,
twisting and turning,
resurfacing in different forms,
the morning grows tired of the noise,
still it goes on,
flowing like before,
blowing into the night,
still it goes on;

no one listens,
no one hears.

Sleep well my friend,
the morning comes
soon enough,
the nighttime will fade
into the growing morning light;

and the band played on.

We hide inside our houses,
dreaming;
dreaming of the tomorrows,
imagining the possibilities,
running from the darkness,
mystified by the mystery,
trapped within the illusion,
waiting for the destination;

forever seeing,
but never knowing;

forever hearing,
but never understanding.

If it were up to me
I would stay in this place,
seeking shelter from the storm,
being swallowed up by the myth,
drowning in the depths,
growing cold from the emptiness,
guarding Your truth
like a rare and precious jewel,
but Your grace knows better,
You lead me past the mistakes,
through the traps and snares,
beyond myself;

and somewhere the band
no longer plays,
someday the light
will come flooding through,
providing vindication
for even the weakest part,
shredding the illusions,
destroying the misconceptions;

speaking the truth.
.
.