Epiphany of insignificance

Revolution is a moralistic march, benevolently rebuilding the agenda of the malevolent. 

Our home is rich enough without diamonds and gold,

yet the many grapple for whatever scraps escaped the bulging pockets of the few,

gasping for air while they sail their yachts in a sea of abundance.

Religions fight over authenticity, assigning us significance with their book of malice.

The fear of finality is mutual across the board, their documents just rarely correspond.

They continue to brawl on this infinitesimal blue pixel nonetheless.

Oblivious components in an inconsequential, boundless macrocosm.

Stars blind us from what's displayed in plain sight, and the extraordinary soon becomes ordinary. 

Fresh eyes reignite the dormant beauty in simplicity,

shedding the fabricated attachments forced upon us by those atop the pyramid.

With an honest epiphany of insignificance, transcendence is inevitable.

Our expected decedent has all this to learn. A canvas awaiting paint, armed with every colour,

yet to be spoilt by the greys and browns splattered on when conformity inevitably holds a gun to their naive head.

Not on my watch… which ends;

A destiny we share however our time is occupied.