Here’s a document, buried under the meaningless memoirs of humanity.
An inkling of truth can’t fit through the clogged minds of normal sanity.
Made by a sage that’s undeniably wise, who prophecized a striking scythe,
and spilt is the blood of our geniuses, leaking through the slits of her eyes.
She raises her arms to the skies and screams --- “Accept mother time…”
And cries and cries until the cloud seams rip so dreary rain can join her,
before she collapses on the foyer to our mind.

Remorseless, this ethereal epitome of manifest destiny is the daughter of earth,
and it’s the right of birth for it to be accepted, not thrown with the worms,
who writhe around in the dirt, but at least those aren’t nearly as cumbersome,
and they even manage to survive by themselves until spring and summer come.

This paper’s still under the memoirs, of the history told by second-hand views,
of those who never even offered their hands for a second…not even just a few,
And chew on their cheeks, relying on the same strategy every single week,
They don’t realize the meaningless tragedy overshadowing those who seek,
the wisdom of eternity, and wrap their hands around fathomless chances…
dismissing the silliness as a chilliness falls over the tomb of manliness.
Maybe one day our brain’ll surrender its weapons, yet refuses to fall victim,
Now it declines the opportunity to shun conformity,
a dark culture that corrupts and sickens.

It’s maiming the social fabric, and I’ve had it, as I watch you
badmouth your fellow man, follow bloodshed, I stick to this document.
Mankind sadly can not understand the constitution, or
look upon the modern world to see the shock of it.
Society holds on to the notion that the aristocracy of originality is heinous,
Ignorance refuses to follow history and be only an ancient kingdom,
As the lack of knowledge tends to be painless.
Someday, the kingdom of idiocy will crumble, as that’s what fate is.