The Time Has Come

So what is it worth? My will is just a falling plate.
It’s bound to shatter, never to find salvation.
What is a metaphor, when the words are empty?
Like water flowing from a creek, taking for granted its impact.

Life may seem like a bowl of cherries,
But what if those cherries are tainted?
We ostracize truth for corrupt utopias,
And when reality wakes us up, we’re already late.

If I remove this cloak, what awaits?
Will the cold wind of a desolate chance plague me?
Or will this serrated neurosis further pierce my sanity?
The abyss bodes no recourse, just one moment of retribution.

Would a frown bring such woe, if we never had smiled?
Life is without purpose if death never comes.
We must rely on our fears in times of persistence,
To help guide us away from the darkness.