The Warehouse

Brick, mortar and shadows on the walls,

Billows of smoke flowing thru the halls

Dancing dragon tongues whip at iron beams,

And in their grip, we see the unseen.

Creation, destruction, it’s cyclical seduction

The rumbling and crumbling of our critical construction

Of our ideas and thinking they’re all literal.

When in fact they’re all just apocalyptical.

It’s all, in a sense, just time passing

Leaving us asking what’s all this smoke really masking

As we wander those halls gasping

Pushing on and grasping at our want to keep on grasping

Our footing gone, our breathe not lasting

Now running thru the halls, as flames whip at our feet

And the walls fall as the fire claims victory at the buildings defeat

There we are left in the street, glaring at the blaze

How were we supposed to compete, we wonder and gaze

Cinder and ashes as the past passes us bearing the days

Swearing that somehow we’ll tear ourselves away

From our delusion and confusion,

A flicker a flare, we delve into what makes human

Rebar and burned bricks form what’s left behind

A skeletal building now redefined

By shadows on the standing walls that refused to fall

Singed into what we would call our mind

In all this we should find some truth, an answer, a lesson of some kind

We could try to make sense, comprehend this impermanence

Die to defend our need for riddance in this instance

Or simply accept and be indifferent

To birth and to death

And the in between persistence

This, all, now, here… what we call existence.

And here now amongst the rubble and ash

I ask, stop for a second, and realize nothing lasts

And hold it

Live, here, now

Live.

Live n the moment.

-JGG