Sad Poems: Strutting Idiots

the world is merely a folly. a tepid riddle left behind. by overexcited atoms. 

time is a gentle beast. a delicate poison. 

it tastes like candy, but suffocates like quicksand. 

we labor on this diminishing stage. stubborn priests stranded in the paradox of absent deities. 

the world is the urgent scale. that weighs the things that cannot be seen. 

we trample through our stale dialogues.

while gravity gnashes its teeth. 

the world is the long road upon which we wander. 

unconcerned by which path we take.