it starts as an action
inaction, overreaction
one that leads to
running in circles
hiding, as all our heroes
become tragic figures
in these days
mad rebels remember in youth
what they’ve lost in old age
and you stand ready
to overthrow the king
hoping that one day
it won’t be you

because this house is
a casino filled with
opportunity and indifference
where confidence and realism
wage an eternal battle, and
among the festivals and visions
anxious and unwilling to speak
the boy missed the mark

outside glamour
the prophet stands surreal
offering guidance
hard pressed wisdom
almost too tough to swallow
and who was that by your side?
led by distractions
hustled by the working class-less
there’s just too much going on here
truth
perspective
and then you cry
you cry for the mistakes
the loss of who you were
the moment not seized
you cry for their gluttony
and a hunger that can’t be filled
you cry for the children who’ve been
scarred by your apathy

looking outside the window it’s cold
and something is falling
what is going on?
“it’s the december wind” he replied
even over miles and cultures
we are all brothers
and karma never fails to find us