Murals
Almighty is an artist, who probably hates their art,
Though the witnesses and viewers seem to be in awe.
But what if the art really is pathetic?
What if the murals don't melt people's hearts?
Those imperfections and their fatal flaws,
If this tragically ends, it would be so poetic.
Stuck in this mural, encaged and unaware,
An experiment by beings greater than us.
Perhaps a failure of effort, this is.
We destroy and plunder without care,
Eventual our downfall, we're nothing but dust
Among the stars, a tiny speck engulfed in mist.
When the rain falls down and we're no longer,
That would perhaps be better, long deserved
Long forgoten, destructive, pathetic, vain.
What comes after, will be fonder,
Keeping our spirit alive and forever preserved.
But it can't save us from death, inevitable pain.
A single mural is temperary, kept covered in the garage,
Laying waste until decided it isn't needed at all,
Wasteful and tragic, vain and cruel.
Unbothered we sit in this silver, white carriage,
Imagine this wagon, off a cliff, suddenly falls,
This world would end, we will end. That is the rule?
How can we be better, when our gods murder eachother?
Washing away, water slicing through stone
Withering walls worry, with wonder and pain,
Worn out by layers of paint carefully smothered.
Murals on these walls will never be known,
Abluting themselves, washes away the mural, in rain.
