Futile

Gods walk among us
and in their coach of ordinary dress
and manner
couched among the knowings
and the mysteries
are stranger hearts

hills that tower like spikes
to call the clouds
with gifts of snow
and mountain rainbows
drawn like cocaine colours
in among subtle vapours
like tired hallucinations
call but most cannot climb
their sheer cragged steeps

visions call us through a window
drawn with ever changing wonder
fixating minds and leading
ever upward to a height
we cannot fly

so fall into damnation
fall through consumership
plunge down
enjoy the freedom of the fall
without a parachute
what is death to fake existence
and as the ever closing fields
await you like a grave
admire the solid earth
wonder at the futile gods
the air so thin
the heady vapours
substances of nothing
nothing