Document 2018 Poem by DM W

I document wastelands of endless sadness,
For I feel adrift amidst the swarming madness.
Angels have fled the desecrated garden.
The Light's buried under illusory worlds:

We are mired in codes and absurd systems;
In stale, mindless routines like frightened children.
Butterflies suffocate in the poisoned air.
The fake, plastic roses refute transcendence.
The last trace of beauty struggles to survive.
Paradise is a perfumed pipe dream for sale.
There‘s no wild struggle of will, passion or faith.
In a world of narcissists fame is the prize.

O I recollect Kierkegaard's caveat:
That novelty's fruits turn bitter so quickly!
We should look beyond masks for flakes of silence.
We should search for wisdom that yet bears no name.
The sword of Damocles hovers overhead.
The prophets recede in the lengthening shadows.