[ The Blasphemer ] Poem by Garathe Den

They say labor, perpetually
For the sake of your existence
Just put a smile on
And pretend that it's a privilege
That you live in a dream
Instead of in a prison
Where a veil over your eyes
Is the epitome of wisdom

And when you ask out
What is the meaning of life
All religions recite
It is strife, it is strife
It is blood sacrifice
At the end of a knife
Dreams buried deep
To let death suffice

So labor in vanity
Set your sights to the plough
Through blood, sweat and tears
May it silence your mouth
May you never object
May you never doubt
May you flow with the current
Of a mindless crowd

All following suit
All striving for stature
For titles that evaporate
Quicker than the rapture
Finding your identity
In something that is captured
Losing your identity
To a system manufactured

While your most earnest of dreams
Are suppressed and sequestered
And the regret of your actions
Through the years start to fester
But instead of seeing truth
You condemn the protesters
Casting off your shame
From the life you have entered

And you boast and you gloat
And you marvel for nothing
Dreams long abandoned
While you sit here just judging
Sought the approval of masses
In the hopes of becoming
A product of the system
In a life so disgusting

With so much invested
You can't turn back now
Your dreams are a phantom
Haunting a forgotten vow
While you're pressing on forward
Your hand to the plough
To strive without purpose
Which is what you have allowed

No one here to blame
Except only for yourself
Such a pitiful picture
That you have compelled
And you judge and you jury
And you execute hell
As you blaspheme the dreams
Which you had once held

© HeartOfBabel