there are wastelands, deserts,
not only of the earth.
I have seen them.
You have as well.
there are endless stretches
of emptiness, places where the quest
lies long abandoned for meaning, and the reflection of
truth is wordlessly deemed
too harsh, macabre; thus it lies
discarded or masked,
or buried,
or crushed. The space is filled
by routine, by diversion, by obliteration of
thought in favor
of automatonic existence; these are the places
of no past, no future, and no present.
this
is death, is end, is void;
and these places, the shameless desecration
of every beautiful thing which humans have the power to be.