The Grandfather Yells Poem by Theorem The Truth Serum

The hand of the clock strikes twelve
down the hall the grandfather yells.
Half a day has gone by.
'What have you done today? ' it crys.
You stop and think during this mid-day.
You're plans are nill and so are your actions.
By this time you have eaten twice.
You've read or visually caught yourself up with the news,
but what has this really accomplished?
You've occupied your time with rhythmnless rhyme.
You've created a song as mundane as corporate pop.
You've done nothing to further yourself.
Each day that you waste is a song with out drums and bass.
It creates a life that plays a song without foundation.
You need a foundation to create anything,
so in essence you are creating nothing but the waste
that you throw away every day.
You may feel like you are a nihilist,
but you have morphed into a completely different metamorphosis.
You have to be something to believe in anything.
A nihilist believes in nothing, but how can you
believe in something when you are nothing?
Empty space is empty space
but just don't let it define what is behind your face.