Madhouse

Stand ready to receive and be able to do so.

Yesterday past, here is today and of course looms tomorrow

Just like your own heart beating, beat after beat

Alas very few stand back and comprehend the scale of our plight

Each day seen as existence

Fulfilling prescribed duties, calling them living

Told to keep scaling that ladder

Forbidden to question, where the final step leads

Is it death? But what happens after?

What happens while your heart is still beating
It seems like a question few want to tackle
As Society darkens and thickens
Never been closer or further apart

As the World gets smaller
Distance contracts and yet togetherness falters
Online communities consist of a body of one
Wallowing egos being Directed and calling it fate

Freedom forgotten, reflection shunned and idolisation promoted

How can one wonder why the Trinity manifests disease on all scales?
In various forms but the same patterns keep acting
Claiming millions of lives belonging to lost souls

If only one realised where their small part fits with the many
Maybe then could justice prevail
Until then, self-preservation dictates the internal dominion
External sovereignty we are given
Internal anarchy is what we allow
In truth it should be the other way round
A slave can only lay claim to his freedom
When he gains power to take off his chains

We look over our shoulders to rank with our rivals

Gleefully logging each forward advance
Celebrations aplenty
Despite not being sure of direction
Destinations are only a dream

So why are we always looking at others?

And why never not at ourselves?

What about those that try to fathom their own higher purpose?

Alas Dear Reader
Acting with relative morals means chasing one's tail
Success leads only to pain

The easy answer is to blame it on him, her, them, fate, nature, bad luck
Just take your pick

But it all starts with the inner
However you see it

Be it your puddle or ocean

The water must first be cleansed of the garbage
Floating in stasis and obscuring the light

In nature, no living thing can prosper in a soup of delusion

The truth of the matter is that we exist in a madhouse

A madhouse that doesn't put up with truth or respect for the light

A madhouse where the inmates are driven by a vain understanding

Often depressed by illusive desires
Which go beyond the nearest four walls

A place teeming with salt, hardened and brittle

A place where many causes are caused by the causes of money

But more so by the two toughest binds
Holding us All back from beginning again

The first tether is Money
Authority is not far behind

The Madhouse is a place with few windows

Light is prevented from falling upon blindfolded eyes

Trust is placed with the wardens
Who've convinced most to keep scaling that ladder

Dissuaded from logic and reason
Persuaded by nonsense
All that's rewarded is reaching the Top

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Written by George Tchetvertakov