In a Time of Disorder

We live in a time of disorder

Where every feeling has been devalued

Like tarnished gold in the back

Of a cluttered closet with a door

That has warped from a long rain

And the water pooled along the floor

Soaking old diaries till the ink bleeds,

Like tears smudging every page.

It is a time of disorder

As people lumber through life

As sullen movie-fried zombies

Staggering in shock and stupor

In a panic search for some

Dim memory of passing joy.

Perhaps forgotten love or

Fleeting glimpses of vague

Passions that once seemed real

Like an old aching bone

Until a terrible shadow stirred.

A rude awakening that was neither

Real nor dream but some poor

Land strangely in between.

Neither act nor shadow,

Neither life nor dream.

For we live in a tide of disorder

And the old bearded man

In the junk yard screams

That the dialectic is not a dream.

More a burden, it sometimes seems.

Never ending, sight unseen,

Relentless and unbending.

More remote than any star.

More relentless than any sea.