Oracle Torn Asunder

This world is impersonal.
Nowhere to go.
Each day spent scrambling -
day in day out filling cracks
in a foundation dry and lifeless.

Each strand of hair; wire
desperate for a drop of colour.
The spectrum of youth.

A world free of pain or fear of death.
This is the end goal. A world where
children can eat from the ground,
consuming all, they live forever.

They call you a liar.

Time passes, winds
of truth eroding inner peace.
Desperate,
try to replace

the way we see the future.
Retrace messages from the past.
Retrace our path.

This sullen heritage will
eat us alive.

Days.
Months.
Years go by.

This sullen heritage will
eat us alive.

Time will not slow,
no matter how hard we try.
Firm grip around both wrists,
we pull we twist we
tear her apart.

Yet she will not slow.