I've got soulless hands
and restless fingers,
dancing across blades of
dewed grass.
I've been laying on this hillside
for hours...
staring into an abysmal sky
of hopelessness and starlessness.

I can hear the voices of
people I'll never care about and
never lie to.
Their murmurs tossing the wind
through peaks and valleys of
strength and emotion;
of weakness and frailty.

I wonder what the purpose of
their lives is.
They don't seem special,
I doubt they amount to anything more
than a secretary and a mediocre accountant.
Their parents will die,
their dogs will runaway,
their bones will ache
their joints will creak
and their lungs will gasp
before the end.
Someone will lie to them,
take them for a fool...
probably before tomorrow has even
found it's end; is that existence?
Can time be measured by trickery and deceit?
By distance between negative events?
By gullibility and the loss of innocence?

I'll never know.
For now, I need to go be average and
amount to little more than a bearded man
with an apartment and dreams.

There's a new human element creeping into your work, Zach, just subtly. I like it.
easy on the adjectives, Lash LaRue, three within a sentence and the first two lines, that's just downright excessively pedestrian.
I really liked the imagery in the first stanza. Very cold, but not lifeless. I enjoyed the rhetorical questions as well.

The line "By distance between negative events?" seemed to really stand out to me.

Very thoughtful piece. Very nice
You have feelings and sometimes they show.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja