Compass

What Ought to Be

We dream of how things ought to be,
But our world is always flawed.
Have hope for man's humanity,
But human love does not bless all.

It may be faithless to form laws,
Where born dissenters they protect,
But reminisce, for come the Fall,
We find each soul is incorrect.

And whether or not we elect,
A darkness rises in our souls:
A tribal clique, so faux perfect
That always leaves one in the cold.

So every decade, we are sold
Which brethren's refuge to resist,
But as averted eyes grow old,
Neglected natures still persist.

Perhaps I am a nihilist.
One question fuels my apathy:
What signs from heaven have we missed
While clinging to what ought to be?