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Portrait of the Artist as a Lone Tree

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Where did purpose go?

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Give me an issue men can care about;
throw me a line that binds me to the truth.
In viciously diminishing our youth,
mankind enshrined the victimhood of doubt.
Tell me a tale that asks for strife and toil,
for efforts great and mighty t’wards a cause,
that calls a man to things his heart adores,
to raise his head from navel fluff, or soil.
Without a dream to please us, we are lost;
without a star to hope upon, destroyed.
Without desire of love, we stroll the void,
but here within, we cannot count the cost;
for memory forgets that we were men
who once subdued the earth, and may again.

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