If I should cease tomorrow
would it matter, all that I have achieved
is but dust waiting to fall from my hands,
to shed loose from my skin, the words
lost in Time, nothing ever truly resembles success
for in the end, life,
is the mirror’s illusion, the offering to resign
before the shit gets wiped in your face
from those who have forgotten you.
I should have stayed in the dark,
waiting for you to carry me home,
for in you, at least, there is no despair.
To resign and shuffle off to the peace of the farm,
leaving the sheep in charge of spraying
on the graffiti declaring pig propaganda,
is now seen as the new leadership,
the firm control and guidance required
in 21st Century
short attention span
management.
I resign in that case, I throw my towel in
to the wolves, baying for blood, baying
for the next willing victim, baying
for the sake of hearing their own howl
and piss in the wind…patience
is dead, it departed when playing games