Alone – by Zombie Zak
What are we in our minds, our moments?
What more than these in-transient commentaries
These psycho babble regurgitations of thought?
Discordant demographics of diaphanous dirges?
What are we in these moments of doubt?
What are we but shards of someone elses dream?
Some misaligned malediction of malfeasance
Thrown together and brought forward by malice?
What are we when we align the stars together?
What are we but players in a story with no plot?
What madman set upon us this task of sanity?
Wherefor art the monsters that sit in our psyche?
They cavort and play and take over our days.
What are we but creatures of circumstance?
Packed in the icebox of this lowly existence?
A semaphore code for impermeable living
Something trivial and obviously unforgiving.
Is that all that we are, constantly at war with ourselves?
That’s how we train ourselves, to constantly battle
Within our minds, as much outside, with our bodies.
A tenuous grasp upon the physical and mental
Stresses that we place within our grasp of life.
Spiraling down into a vortex of unconnected realities
Simply to attempt a means of assimilating banalities.
We may have been born in the company of strangers;
Many friends and strangers stringing though our lives,
But, in the end, when the sums are fully calculated
And the end result is computed to the last decimal
How are we cast upon the stone of final attainment,