THE SICKLE

Beyond the delusion,
that being good is enough,
that I can earn happiness,
peace, security,
by the merits of good character,
that life has meaning,
that I matter,
that there's purpose,
that there's joy in simply being loved --
here, in reality,
is a cold, rocky, wet, dreary place,
stretching on forever,
from horizon to horizon
                               without end
beneath the grey and looming sky.

Here I lie alone amidst bones of broken dreams
and the ashes of lives reality has destroyed.
Here I lie dying,
adding myself to the Great Grave
because I sought the truth,
I went beyond,
I wandered too far,
looked beyond that outer wall --
beyond the Stage with all its props and actors,
I went further,
and died in my mind
before my time.

And I see the ghost of my child
still playing inside the delusion,
still seeing the lie, and loving life.

Touch me once again.
Let me feel your warmth.
Awaken that sweet blissful lie.
Embrace my bones,
and try to ignore the empty eye sockets
and skeleton grin.
Warm me with the lie.
Just long enough
for me to say
goodbye.