Sons of Suns, Our Lives Eclipsed

There was a time when things were simple;
a time when life made sense more than sense made life, but
life does not make sense worth anything.
Sense simply makes life worth living.
The mechanism behind our logic does not explain itself, though we have no sense.

As I grow, the world shrinks around me;
the once infinite biome,
now suffocating me in my own skin.
The birds do not sing in the morning anymore.
The morning does not call me from my slumber as it once did.
My slumber does not calm my ears from the piercing chime of a bird's love these days.

The birds do not sing.
The people do not love.
Love no longer has a song.
Government ignores our wrong
to manifest its own destiny,
apart from our desires.
Police no longer sleep,
the law long retired.

I do not leave my home in the morning
and wave at Mr. Sir in the blue suit.
Mr. Sir is too busy these days,
with my brothers in pursuit.

I suppose this is what tells us we've grown up:
When we smile at the world and receive no smile back,
we know that we've worn our welcome.
We hear the bells chime, our hearts under attack.

It seems adulthood is smiling,
just smiling,
and some laughing
through all pain
to pass time.

Let Apollo wash the feet of Dionysus
till our smiles are eclipsed by tears.