The Future, Unsold

All ye who drivel with swine,

What is the point of this time?

Lost men without a cause,

You wander into an unending pause.

The merriment of drink and laughter,

Has left you without anything to look for or after.

The rose buds bloom as spring shines through,

But the womb is barren and yields nothing true.

Come one,

Come all,

The future can be un-stalled.

Fruit in the Garden of Eden,

Has yet to poison the lives you believe in.

The jester dances upon the mighty shoulder,

While the rest are left to growing older.

The tempest strings a lovely tune,

In order for the masses to heal the bloody wound.

The dust has yet to settle,

And now it is dawn,

The world keeps turning,

And you still play along.

Dogmatic fallacy dances along the tongue

As the birds become slowly chained to the sky.

The comforting breeze gives way to pollution,

While the junkie clings onto a new high. 

For all the cries demanding revolution,

No one seems to want to die for the solution,

While resolution and absolution muddy the waters

With nothing but intrepid disillusion. 

The past has yet to unfold,

While the present is here to behold,

And upon the precipice of the future told,

A light remains, un-bought and unsold.