Bleak

Austerity in posterity,
the gaunt ruin of the dark tower.
With Grim realization and compliance
to sever our mind and spirit.
The psychopomp stares
with icy patience; unnerving,
compromising all but the most
ascetic, whom have the least to lose.

But for the unsustainable rest
huddled for warmth, surrounded
by desolation,
the sterility of what remains
is defined by our trajectory.
History's revolver topples
even the most titanic of empires.
Reapers of what we sow.

Live from RoosRoast

The act of existence is explicitly so in our namesake. A human, being. The unfortunate reality is that, for most humans, simply being  does not suffice. As a result, many seek answers to questions such as:

"Why are we here?"

"What is our purpose?"

which are currently out of the scope of human comprehension to answer adequately, short of accepting that we're here to exist. Our purpose is to exist. We aren't called Human figure-it-outs.

Rising in parallel with our knowledge as a species is our ego, and with that growing trajectory, a further disconnect from the natural world.