Inheritance

 

Can we live in a world full of prophets,

Where the soothsayers smooth us with lies,

When lovers regale us with treasure,

Or beguile us with come to bed eyes.

When the dictionary empties is meanings,

To the voices we hear in our head,

And the fire is the pit of extinction,

When the wise and the worthy are dead.

 

Can we fly on the wings of an angel,

As the mountains are washed to the sea,

When our souls are as sand in a desert,

To be damned by the guilt in our plea.

When the child in our children is silenced,

By the burdens we load down the years,

Do we offer them sanctification,

Or the valley of terror and tears.

 

Can we walk with the saints and the sacred,

Being blinded to hatred and fear,

With the word as a helmet and breastplate,

And the hope of eternity near,

Or cross with the knowledge of nothing,

Being certain that nothing is there,

Being portion and part of oblivion,

Without rhyme or reason to care.