Complex Mannerisms

I'm surprised  
By the amount of pride
People exhibit day to day

 

What are you trying to accomplish?
Like the phoenix, we rise above our plagues.
But as people, we wither each time change arises.
Our world undermines our feats.
Shows no concern in our efforts and

Gave little direction for something better.

Our right and wrong become indiscernible.
We seek the truth, but it's nature is impossible.

 

We walk over the shards; our mistakes.
They're buried under newer ones.
As result, the foundation constantly changes.
Our truth is an unnerving paradox of recycled pollution.
Hence, this is the cycle of us.

Inside our world, our truth doesn't last.
Undeniable, we keep something.
We keep the stains in our mind.
But it looses prominence, rusts over time.
Something slightly different is sewed at each pit-stop.
We reap diluted replacements; delusions.

 

Our world never cared for civility.

We made up that concept in pursuit of better things

But we've only become more convoluted for that comfort.
The truth, perhaps, isn't impossible,
But the nature not applicable to our complex mannerisms.
Hence, we're always ever malleable products of our time.

And still, what are we trying to accomplish?

 

 

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world

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