Empty Glory

I have lost my touch
And my grasp of the arcane has suffered
The chords of Orion go unstrung
Neither do the harps of Armageddon sing
I am weeping in a coffin of standing water
The algae has grown to replace my skin
To shed means so much more than it once did
I stand terrified of what’s lost and worse
What I cannot gain
Time has marched forward while I slept in a bed of opportunity
Ghost writers dictate my passionate vociferating
Editors stop my breath before it can carve any truth out of our cacophony
An effective castration
A synthetic growth
There is a propagation of identity but nothing is truly created
And nothing worthy of timelessness is born
So I weep and whittle at the scroll
And the page mocks me
Telling me tales of what I thought I would be
Spent potential and vast worlds gone to waste
I weep in a bed of stagnant tears
Surrounded by monuments to my voice
And my words are nowhere to be found
Treading a path of second-hand glory
Vicariously living through myself