A Cult of the Ordinary

the dark night does approach,

silence fills the unending void,

there are consequences, for careless words

spoken in haste, 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,

yet in the end, losing the war,

the last breath waits feverishly on wings

of majestic crows, black and sleek,

seeking refuge among the lost and forsaken

rubble, congregating 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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