The trail is always downward-
From the time we are conceived.
Cynicism starts to grow-
When the first deceit’s believed.
And age begins it’s pursuit-
With the newborn’s wailing breath…
And will not slow, nor stay it’s hand,
Until we’re cold in Death.
As youth gives way to wrinkles-
And strength concedes to pain…
Like the desert’s blossom withers,
As it gasps for saving rain.
As the cultured seeks decadence-
And the lowly seek success-
And the worst can be expected,
Of the ones we laud the best.
Contradictions all around us-
Opposition on all sides…
Yet we persevere in ignorance,
Are consumed by foolish pride.