Homage to Yeats

Image by Yasaman Shayangogani

The bones pile up all around. We walk on the dead: we eat their ashes, we drink their dust. But we are deaf. Deaf to the strangled cry of their thousand throats- in anguish and despair, “You are going the wrong way!!” “We love you” (and) “You hate yourselves, children, just as we did too.” “Us not you.” and a tiny whisper, “I’m sorry.”

But mostly, indignation. We are the degenerate… those who inherit the earth, the onus is on us (because it is inherently our fault… we had a choice).

How difficult it is to break the pattern! Even in opposition, we only comply. Nothing gets done, and no one goes nowhere.
Pursue wisdom not knowledge.

All signs point to a perpetual downward spiral.

Did you forget? The point of no return? (was never, ever and before). We have traveled away, cyclically without a chance – there’s no way back, no aureate thread (that’s a child’s story anyway).
No. It’s not. But still unreal.
Religion becomes myth after long enough time.
Give it time.
That blood will still be wine.
That flesh will still be bread.

There is no bandaid.

So, down(wards) we spill in a widening gyre. Things (never) fall apart. Because there is no hope of reformation and recovery.
The circle breaks eventually.
And we all fall (down)
Pile into dust.
Blow away.