The Unsung

(Sidenote: first post here and I'm deciding to go poetic with it. Stick with me, this story gets better.)

Windows show more desecration than mirrors these days.
These times are trying, yet we must try to be trying to the times.
I have no clue where my clues are anymore,I simply press forward into the grand abyss of fate's morbid joke.
Please, spare me your flaunts of your mythological dogmas and saviors.
I have no desire to hear fairytales on this day.
My words are pretentiously meant for the Unsung, for those
Who have stories of grand illustration, yet no word ever reached paper.
Humanity has lost its connection with the common, the blissful,
The ever-so-meaningful mundane within our species.
We taunt the worlds other inhabitants with our "intellect",
Bestowing ourselves with the authority (unnaturally) to determine
When life can begin or end for the other species we room with here.
It's blasphemy, and of the true kind, not of your fairytale lords and ladies.
My love and care for humanity is hanging on by a sinew of hope,
But even that is tantamount to having belief in the love of death.
I have no more to give, nothing to spare to those currently breathing.
Those that meant the heart of our spirit are unknown or in the embrace of death.
The true irony of all my words, present here on this day,
Is this simple statement of self-realization:
Our spirit holds with the Unsung, yet if they were to be known,
The spirit itself would perish.
Stay silent, you unknown keepers of humanity,
And let us fall off our self-made cliffs.

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Well I hope you enjoyed that little poetical dabble. As stated in numerous places on this blog, it shall not all be poetry. No my friends, it's not a green field covered in rainbows and lollipops; this shall soon have harsh rambles of grand metaphoric and realistic design!