Selfish Gain

Desperate measures are taken
To unite the defense
Against unseeming devotions
Care not to awaken awareness
Caring for little else
Than useless hours of consumption
Speaking dreadly with the flowers
Speaking friendly at the brick wall
Seeking fulfilling spaces
Caring not to decline the offer
All is grabbling with a riddle
Left unanswered
Left behind as we set through
Walls are closing in
Emotions are boiling
Yet coming not to conclusion
Leaving answers undefined
Riddles are testing the measures
Hoping they are sensed for what they are
Someday we will be visited by death

Civilization and control bound together
Fleeing solitary souls dreads
The hour that is coming
Amnesty is an elephant
Poor qualities broken
Will unite
But not overcome
Will defend
But not succeed
Left unavenged
These savage fools
These nobodies
This furious mob that haunts
The spectre of These Last Hours
The streets are empty
None to avail this time

Control is the perfect instrument
The weak are destroyed
Hierarchy is perfect
So is cruelty
It will avail
Like civilization
And death – the bodies of the broken
Death – what is coming
Last hours spend on idle thoughts
Sensing transcendence
But then
It is here not there
So we venture on
Though broken
Though death
The shiny blood diamond

He is the last man

About Emil Hjort

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