Torn

Our world is torn

only the fibers of habit 

keep the broken branch 

connected to the tree of life

our understanding of the future 

has fallen into fragments 

none of the roads lead 

to the places we were going 

unable to bear the weight

of our expectations 

the branch has snapped 

everything we believed would be true

and everything we wanted to believe

has been proved illusory again

soon, you will be telling me

that I spend too much time

making soap bubbles that 

float in the air

and none of it is real

my answer is that reality 

has shown its treasonous hand 

and dragged down the living wood

with its icy grip.