TOO LATE

Beyond life's waking moments lies breadth of soul to touch.
I reach within and grasp at straws and wonder.
How is such that we are born, that we exist unto this map of God,
     and 'lo to be the likeness of He tis why this earth we trod?
Shun thy neighbor, loath thyself; I do not ask now why,
     for in our conquest of convictions we fathom we shall simply wave
     goodbye, though we cry out.
We cry out to save our souls from thirst and yet our throats are dry.
We quench our minds with worthlessness and sigh with boredom for we
     remain parched like old newspaper; like history repeating itself again
     and again and again...and as an age old curse is lifted we awaken,
     untimely it seems, for ultimately it is now that we die.