Broken

September 11, 2001
         A new generation realizes its mortality, and the human spirit is broken, driving us all into the occluded obscurity of the shadows. We promise to live on, but the seeds of unease and disillusionment are planted disproportionately early; the postmodern progression has commenced, and a generation of artificial preachers of corrupted scripture is born.

Blank paper,
Brimming with possibility.
Within its empty vessel
It holds the universe.

But you have printed lines on the paper.

Lined paper;
Possibilities reduced to mere words.
Words, words, words.
But within the undiscovered lexicon
It yet grasps the world.

But you have written between the lines.

Written paper,
Without possibility.
Filled with ideas,
But lacking its own thoughts.
It grasps empty space.

But you have forgotten this paper.

Forgotten paper;
Falling to the depths
Of the river of time.

We are the paper which has already been written. We’ve been filled with the ideas of others; the fears of our fathers, the mundane misconceptions of our mothers. We can’t erase ourselves, we can only wait to be forgotten, lost within the inky blackness of obscurity.