moon & moss

The moon rose ages ago,
even now it's doing so;
you know you see false light,
but enthralled by the design.
design, design, design;
what is intelligent in this design?

Little thing called moss,
pitiful and at loss;
drinking the water of reason,
roots deepen, want of attention.

Big thing called moss,
staring right into moon;
ignoring the boss,
crawling out of earthy wound.

Moon and moss. The war is on.
One's receding, the other's living.
Life's a fluke, not a plan;
fear makes you look up to the god-man.

(maniac)

Five digits in our limbs,
fight until faith dims;
lose the war, the game of kings,
then you realise you've sprouted wings.
wings, wings, wings;
fly high with your wings.

Defy the irrational gravity,
touch hence sky and sanity;
voices booming, scream aside all holiness,
why seek you fools, purpose of existence.
exist, exist, exist;
to exist is the purpose.


{this is my first}