What it will be

the room spins in the shadows of the ceiling fan
the dust settles fast as it blows
the story is written in blood on the stones
the truth is told nobody knows

poets praise prophets and prophets curse poets
and pirates raid profits for fun
lovers and losers and lasers and liars
all fall at the sound of the gun

there is no difference between us
even as we struggle for identity
there is no magical purpose
even as we pride for posterity

there is no heaven in waiting
even as we grovel toward eternity
there is no ultimate meaning
there is only you and me
in this moment
you and me

and what we make of it will be
what it will be

the great ball of fire in the sky gives life to all
the dust settles as fast as it lives
the story is written in ash on the fields
the truth is what nobody gives

preachers praise saints and saints stay silent
as pirates raid pulpits for fun
holy and sinners and winners and saviors
all fall at the sound of the gun

there is no reason to go on
even as we fight for our victory
there is no virtue or value
even as we pose for our history
there is no great final reward
even as we pray for humility
there is no grand design
there is only you and me
in this moment
you and me

and all we feel and see
and what we make of it will be
what it will be


October 8, 2008