This Is It

Freed from illusion
I can see its face because
this is it, and I know it
can't hide any longer.

Rushing communication before the vision fades,
Ten willow trees still saplings but will grow,
This explosion of melodrama in acidulous eyes,
That convulsion begging a simple motion.

Decay in bodies, the living are going
to burn out like a light bulb.

A thousand years has built up to right now
'cause everything you've worked for paid off.
There's nothing to wait on, any longer and
directionless futures will propound.

I wait for her body. The thing they said would come.
The one thing promised to be from virtue, lack profit;
a test of the soul, monetary means fail.
Idiot. You thought women loved fool's gold?

Pull the drapes over the dead at that point
'cause we don't want 'em to get fat like last time.