Ideals

Expiring talent, of purpose divine

Ghosts of our futures, howling through time

Drowned in bad whiskey, takes more than a night

Perfection looms over, so the real takes flight

Legacies butchered, so why even try?

The absence of trace makes a just alibi

Romantic ideals, not letting us live

So much potential, with nothing to give

Muses of smoke clouds, gone by sunrise

Condemning our ways, and the same damned old lies

Of love or of friendship, but words on a page

Deceitful in this world, fills with just rage.

But maybe somewhere, beyond those long halls

There lies a world, of less, but of more

Full of life’s meaning, and sometimes of none

One that’s imperfect but still greets the sun

Be one with that world, one that’s as flawed as us

And come back back by night, and still raise a glass

And put pen to paper, half truths anyway

To live through the ages, we must first find our way