Remnants of a Past

How long have I been sleeping?
I awoke to find myself surrounded.
Everywhere I turned stood familiar ruins,
White columns and walls lie crumbled, nostalgia.

In an instant was overwhelmed with hope.
These were institutions I had invented,
Collapsed by their own faulty design.
I was a blank slate, a new world.

I was free, to start over, to sow new fields,
I decided to walk amongst my past.
The poor quality of thought was evident.
My ignorance had built me a muddied city.

I could now see why I had been wrong.
I built with intentions of elitism, greatness.
I did not realize that by default we are all great.
The butterflies descended; flowers on the breeze.

They perched among every stone remnant,
Of my broken past ideals and desires.
When I saw them I felt God smiling.
His love washed over me, and I was silent.

I breathed in deeply, and released with a smile.
A great wind disembarked from my lungs.
All clues of my blindness were swept away, disintegration.
All that remained were the butterflies and me.

Jail cells, perfect statues, and rivers of tears that eked,
All were dust in the wind, all were no longer me.
I was a child in an attic who found an old truth.
After building blocks of mud, I found marble.

From this place of utopia I will rebuild.
Hope has me by the hand, she will guide me.
Into a brighter tomorrow I float away.
Only until I awake again, remnants of myself.

Pig the Nihilist

Pig would travel to the hilltops,
Oh, and he would sit looking down,
He pondered the boundaries of life, sky.
He wanted to know why he couldn’t fly.

Of course, the answer came to him.
Like some dead goddess the world answered.
She told him that he was vain.
The pig had spent too much time on hilltops.

Looking down, he always was looking down.
He had thought himself smarter, he had changed.
Nihilism had become his mistress,
Absurdist pig, how could you do that?

Narcissism was his speech,
He had been on hilltops far too long.
Solitude had made him a lunatic,
For lunatics come in ones.

Poor pig, why did you have to think?
If only you had stayed level with your kind.
Now you are a monster, a rooted statue.
You can never be moved, by anything.

Your nose smells clouds.
Your hooves stand upon,
The bodies of your kind.
Your mind is not of this world.

Simple pig, floating in a universe,
All your own, ideas and illusions,
You said you could fly,
Now you are, only lunatics dare fly.

Come back down, come back,
The end is not everywhere,
Stop chasing ghosts, taste life,
It is before you pig, take it, truth exists.

Poor pig traveled to hilltops,
He would sit and ponder this world of lies,
Ponder his death, all ends, fire.
Now he has been stolen from us.

Pig is a nihilist. The end end end end end end end end end end end end.