The Forgotten Path- Free Style Muse Generator Poetry

The Forgotten Path

12 - October - 2002

In the tower of intellect the needles cast,
insanity blew in, stirring the long settled dust
off of tomes of memories, stored out of sight
of the seekers of truth, justice and fruit juice.
Scorpions crawled, making nests of the truth
that once was beheld, turned sour and fetid
for wanting of use. Justice crumbled, under the pressure of
time and duty and desire. The crumpled sheets
caught the legs of those running, desperate to seek
what they thought they deserved to know.
Their lust and their loins quickly distracted.
Beautiful shrine maidens, the keepers of the hall,
purity ripped from them, forceful, unclean.
The children they bore forever reminders of what was sacrificed
lost in the ebb of time, for a few moments of heat.
Torrid pleasures for half, painful screams sliding forth
into the infinite darkness of an uncaring sky.
Cold stars reflected in now dull eyes
and the child's cry snaps back the attention of one.
She picks up her bag, her dreams, her life,
shattered and broken, in tissue paper.
Puts the remains of the knowledge, the map to the truth,
locks it away in the chest at the foot of mahogany bed
for no one seeks the truth anymore,
faith has long been forgot
and time eases forward, comfortable without
and the last tear slides down from the dulling eyes
for she cannot pass on the truth to a world that will not listen.