The Illusion, By Brian37

From the onset
From the first breath
The sickle chases us
To a variety of death

We fight in futility
This final reality
With vacuous labels
Of class and status

Since atoms decay
To our dismay
The futile efforts
We display

Our masks have names
In race and religion
Of power and wealth
And national origin

And in our history
None have escaped
The finite reality
All will face

The illusion enticing
The peacock strut
With fanciful feathers
Attracting others

Plumes of falsehood
Empty promises
And hollow threats
Divide humanity

Trapped we are
By this illusion
Painfully obvious
Is our imagination

A way out
Will never be
No mater what lie
We believe

From the fame
To the farmer
To the Pope
To the president

All who are ,all who were
And all who will ever be
Will be swallowed by time
And obscurity

The cosmos
Is cold
Uncaring
And not cognitive

Please spare me
From your accusation
Of negativity
Born from credulity

Nay be I fatalistic
Or pessimistic
Merely from facing
Reality

Are there wonders
And happiness
To be found
Here and now?

A resounding yes
I too shout
YES, YES YES
I have no choice

A kitten's purr
A loved one's hug
I value too
Without myth making

The illusion must die
For the mind to survive
The sickle the victor
And will always win

It reaps our bodies
And our stories
Laughing at petty attempts
To outlast it's dark robe

Facing the finite
Is solitude
Incantations
Are pale placebos

We dress
Dress and redress
Our flavors
Hoping the ice cream wont melt

It does
It will
It is
Our finality