Instinctive Drift

Under the celestial canopy of endless wonder and open-ended anxiety I feel a rumbling in the subconscious of mankind

When the comforts of the age have gone what will we be, if the slightest grievance transforms us in to feral, bloodthirsty savages in the moment?

What will be our full moon staring down at us with an almost knowing presence, dilating our pupils and pumping adrenaline through our veins?

Smell the iron in the air and hear the cries of us, charging under the banners of delusion, selfishness, and unattainable standards, while those who cannot march weep. Whether they weep for us or themselves no one can say.

Unimaginable acts of carnage rip through our cities, deadlocked neighbors spilling their gore into the streets. Quivering eyelids will never properly shield the mind from this spectacle of slaughter.

We have never been more connected to each other, we have never been ripped apart so violently.

We are our own undoing. Here the hour of man closes as the hour of beasts continues.

Time ticks on and though our hour is over we survive, a mangy cross breed of wolf and dog, staggering around in the dark out witted by rodents, cannibalizing our young.

Beacons bursting into the atmosphere, hope, thought, reason, instantaneously swallowed by the horde.

The Earth belches new kings like late autumn frost as each day dawns, as brief as the morning soaring overhead. The masses gaze slack jawed, and deep within their eyes you will see the reflection of a campfire left unkindled for days.

This, a version of man so uncannily similar yet drastically different, so tragically comedic that it may be satirical if they only knew the meaning of the word.

The kings of new crumple like the paper they are built from.

Why now must we reap the harvest of humanity, were the sins of our fathers not greater than our own? Why in our time must we endure our very undoing?

Nay, we shall not see the unraveling of some religious Armageddon, if there exists such a biblical end we will not reach it.

Where there was no hate to be found we constructed it ourselves, shoveling it in, bubbling and gurgling through the triumphs and progress it boiled over and scorched us all.

Through the infinite void we exist as an atom or less, seated in our corner, showcasing our production, reaching to the heavens and grasping nothing, our screams are silent in the pool of space, yet we are a reflection of all existence and existence a reflection of ourselves, our curtain has closed and the universe that is our audience leaves feeling underwhelmed.