Streamless

Dead lives, I worry endless
Of all the failed, elaborate plans of mankind
Which may never see the light of day
They await their demise, unless awoken
Never too late to make a difference.
What sort of banter is?
will it ever see the light of day?
A furious awakening
It might be spit fire and appear to fester
The deadened soul sees no desire
no harness, no weighty claims for the future
Those who seek will find reward in harmony.
Never the less, the rope may tear
for all those who yearn to climb its golden walls.
Of all the fears that plague mankind
It is not the fear of death or the fear of being lost
Nor the fear of being branded nothing
It is the fear of will-less-ness.
The fear that there is nothing to go on for
Nothing to seek, there are no green fields on the other side
Only fields of mud where rows of planted corn and potatoes look the same.
Life becomes dull. A reason to exist.
We live like each other. We look like each other.
A part of the masses.
Every minute is a struggle in itself. None is free from it.
Those who roam free are free from it.
but those who are held in bondage do not see it
Can i record every single thought? Would it make sense?
Or is it just a haphazard rendering.
What is goodness afterall? It is not just a trail of the mighty.
From pain, also comes goodness.
From thought is faith.
And from faith is worship.
Consider a life where there is no thought, no faith and no worship.
How brilliantly qualified are we? Yet, all we do is stumble.
Humans are made to stumble.
A human was never made to be divine.
Just a little rush, that's all I need
Where lies this ache?
I wonder if this seems like rubbish.
In all probability it is..
For a rush of thoughts can never make sense unless streamlined.
Or maybe not.