this is the end...

the words stare at me
motionless;
the thoughts wait for freedom
helpless.

white pages lie ruffled on
the road;
dead corpses get crampled
and cold.

the sense is burning
in the fire of more;
the race has long started
with a purpose to explore .

the vision is scarred
the inspiration too marred;
yet a desire to conquer
survives the war.

we don't know our enemies
nor the reason to be so sore;
we don't see the light
that shines through the door.

the throats don't creak
as the swords touch the bone;
the blood doesn't gush
when the ego gets a stone.

the clock stands still
with hour hand at thirteen;
the ink has dried up and
the words have lost their sheen.

the mud is dark
and the light too dim;
the trench is deep
and the hope so thin.

morrison says that this is the end
but the story ended long ago;
the sun always shines for us
but the truth remains
that we died long before...