The World Is A Commune

The world is a commune,
a cacophony of voices
trapped under the same canopy
all screaming their light
though driven mad with fears
for the sunset has no lasso
and sunset has too many closed doors.

We don’t earn a title
by acting before a stage of eyes
don’t receive a reward
from writing excuses
in a gold bound book
with impressive calligraphy.

Out of stagnation we escape
once we start to dream,
but there are always nightmares
within the circle of our fantasies
and there is no paradise
that we will ever conceive,
which doesn’t exists
through something else dying
the moment we start to build.

It a cycle with crisis and rain,
blessing and curses co-existing,
the only true improvement coming
when we stop running from every doom
cease pretending there are only rainbows
then build umbrellas
before we risk drowning completely.