Still, It is Possible To Have a Conscience
Still, it is possible to have a conscience,
Amidst the conscienceless,
Then you're on your own
Good-luck-buddy!
Avaricious protoplasm
Spins madly out of control
Under an aching sky,
Vapor and dusk.
But that which is rooted in things dead
Drains the living of its intrinsic essence,
Devoid of remorse,
Loathe for sorrow
There are ties rooted in memory,
Thicker than water,
Just as ephemeral.
But I am not rooted in things dead
Nor do I wish to die in consideration
Of the retrospective flight from sorrow
As if, the mob's approbation or wrath
Ever impelled the wonderment
Rooted in things beautiful
Engorged in my eyes!
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