Who Are We?

Who are we in life, if hopeful not of its end?
an audience awed in passing, wishful not to attend
this orchestra, a cacophony of silence and of sound,
while our evanescent joy, obligation surely offends.
What is termed loss, if not a moment to begin with?
a romance left undone, not an affliction to make writhe
our souls that have salvation nor any further to see,
while ambivalent turns existence, from lucidity when made rid.
When are we defined, as mortals and not gods?
by the very end of sunset, each sunset and what odds
have we of finding freedom, of will, of love, of loss,
while those we presumed tending, are ones left most unawed.

It Is Time We See Off The Guard Of Honor

Valiant stand, our guards of honor, at dark gates
of resolve, valor, sovereignty. Albeit human
they are, and so are we, as their walls,
tirelessly adhering, towering eternal, never
lending shade to those seeking refuge but them,
never affecting fortitude, unto wars victims, but them.
From us are they, and from them are we,
they, are our watchful guardians, and we,
are their mishapen feeding futile hand.
What have we, that does not mock us in their favor,
and have not we, a say slightest, of whom we silence,
whom we befriend, whom we betray, thus, who are we?
Languid grows this hour of vigil, yet we are witness,
lions for lambs, we serve to darkness, but as witness.
Through days of tragic, but forgetful massacres,
we must now guard, our own selves, our own walls.
Let go must we, the faithful guard of fatigued loyalty
and too let them fade, in the obscurity of age,
for if we were, to have them serve further our purpose,
I fear, shall fall the empire that always willed to rise.