A Cult of the Ordinary

the dark night does approach,

silence fills the unending void,

there are consequences, for careless words,

spoken in haste,

there are prices to be paid,

for miscommunications

and mistaken identities,

we have crossed unknown

lines and barriers,

without any thought

for tomorrow,

settling for pennies on the dollar,

creating monuments of our

own misgivings,

putting eternal wheels in motion

which cannot be undone,

winning victories,

but in the end

losing the war,

the last breath waits feverishly

on the wings of majestic crows,

black and sleek,

seeking refuge among

the lost and forsaken

rubble, which

congregates just outside

these prison walls,

waiting for no one,

seeking nothing;

nothing at all;

they never see past the veil,

this charade,

this hideously, pathetic impression,

for most it is business as usual,

part of the routine;

a cult of the ordinary.

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