O

Are there words left to convey
The most Ancient of Days
Or is all we'd like to say
Now doomed to cliche?
Does nothing remain
Except for our stain?
Has the word been forgot
They'd receive and not mock
And could we call it back if we tried?
Has virtue curled up and died?
Are we left with it's husk
Is this moment the dusk
Of the goodness that's left in the world?
Are we utterly hurled
Deep into abyss
Is ignorance bliss
Could we be more than this
Are we lost in the frost
Inhaling time's cost
As ashes and flotsam in space?
I was just looking for grace
For misdeeds I cannot erase
Questions sprung into place
Like bars in a cage
To my impotent rage
Same story, next page
Always trapped in a maze.