Tempora

this rueful rustic rusts
from within outside in oblivion.
this time spent is time lost
as each morrow becomes the day and each day the past
in the wait to be awakened
from the morbid web of silence.
life now is a cycle
of events that are meaningless.
the incertitude of this aimless mind
thoughtlessly constructs to lucifer.

And i said

to be or not be
is not just a question
sometimes it is the very answer
it is the choice one has to make
a choice someone has to offer
it is a luxury of the one who knows
and the curse of the ignoramus

Alas!

Greed.
Of it born, of it bred, of it dead.