Echoing Whispers

The whispers of an abandoned morality still pull in the back of my mind...

Our hands are stained with our lives,

masses of insurmountable sin compiles, dripping from our fingertips.

Every regret, everyone's lies,

every dilapidated knife cuts out from delicate liar's lips...

 

Why do we feed into this little play,

extricate the excess and flush reality away?

Do we poison our words so that it's harder to heal?

Is there no conscience, no self echoed whispers to change how we feel?

Existence is slowly becoming a juxtapositional phrase,

Persistence becomes ruthless as morals fade out of the days.

For one to succeed someone must fail,

and so it's no alliances, and 'the life' becomes 'the hell'.

 

I remember I lost someone close,

but their life became a thanatopic, sacrificial symbolic post.

You must inevitably give to gain,

but what f*****g reward was truly worth all of his pain?

 

Morality is a society's atheism,

Humanity is no longer maintained, but imitated.

Fight with our hearts and in turn we gave them,

and if we win, then our peace of mind is devastated.

 

Assassinate our innocence,

stronger emotions have no dents.

Appreciate the monotonic,

even masochists can't stand this.

Throw away the happily ever after,

and feel only a bitter laughter.

Feels like we've picked our gun,

the trigger in our face blackened the sun.

 

Ambitions once led to happiness,

morality faltered-now all we have is emptiness...

With the monotonous passing of every day,

It seems we only see the same shades of gray.

Reviews

[closed]

God, you always seemed to be the deeper writer sometimes. Something about your style of writing, I don't know.

There's so many concepts here.

Sometimes morality really does become more of a device than anything. Maybe it's why morals are so easily confused with ethics.

And yes, we all imitate someone, or something in life.

It's a means of security, a defense mechanism if you will.

Life imates art.

Art imates life.


-Dream