The sadness of a soul surrounded

It's the sadness of a soul surrounded,
The shadow of a former self.
Far from promises of wealth,
Embarked upon, when starting out.
Attained, maintained, and then, deranged,
the faltering of meaning.
As stable grip, is ripped, and torn,
Forlorn, and lost, tossed from the train,
By those with hearts, and smaller brains,
that left us all, with nothing.

Their cunning, moral vacuum. Accepting all, devoid of peace,
At least, they feign, and then maintain,
The lies of their pretence.
The fences of their doomward glare,
The falseness of their shallow care,
That beats down, on our hearts.

As Kerouac maintains his grin,
And thinness takes his payment down,
Counting it with careful frown, as we, are left to die.

As hubris' hiatus scowls at me,
The others, cannot, ever see,
All that left, that day, that day.
The day, Old Grey Eyes, went away.
The end of all, of our, great fall,
The work of worth, to which, we're called.
But never can I e'er lament,
Of text and hours of life, we spent,

As hands and feet, grew, ever cold,
And oldness sapped all life away,
As we try to say, what we need to say,
As those we love, just, have to leave,
To please a will, that's larger, greater,
Than anything we'll e'er conceive,
Relieved that our lives, matter, thus,
And we expire.
And we, were us.