It's a burden,
assumed omniscience,
which inflates the tender ego.
Watch as the personality,
breaks down on the side,
of the common road,
under its weight.
The solution doesn't surface,
a submarine long since torpedoed;
the death rattle of your love life.
Maybe there wasn't a solution.
Imagine years spent
three steps ahead
only to realize that
the race is a lie.
Three steps ahead became
three steps above or away,
but it didn't matter in the end,
it was only relative to zero.
And now who is laughing?
I can't see them but I hear
strange, strange echoes
of love and ignorance
not so blissful
or needed.
There was a point to the story,
I told myself,
as I lay down under the siege
of an enigmatic stream of consciousness,
that somewhere is broken,
and all too complete.
It's bent on destruction,
it's own, yours, or the delicate
break-down of my loved ones.
A battle tonight became a victory,
and the wolves danced as sheeps
following a failure too obvious and unsung.
Silence is golden,
even when shrouded by
bronze defeat.
Andy Veilleux 