Fading Paradise

This poem is about a man
Stepping across the precipice of time.
His hands cradling a limp, slimy slice of spam,
His mumbled words holding back that slime.

A warped, surreal landscape stretched before him,
Dotted with discarded wreckage from a time long
Before everything came apart at a whim.
Now the only greeting here is a wailing song.

Trotting through this wasteland along an endless trail,
Never really getting a glimpse of the end
Of this place, never realizing its sheer scale
Or how he could have made amends.

Occasionally he would stop
For before him stood a single memory,
A timeless obelisk that would never fall and flop.
But to him this seemed so eerie.

Again he would come back to the Precipice of Time
Despite his crippling batophobia,
And he would step over that foreboding gap
In order to once again relive his decaying utopia.