Full of Wonder, Not Wonderful

There is nowhere left, the roads are barren and bare.
No path can bear my traceless tracks, which trace back to a past
that my memory can barely grasp.
Maybe it was the mundane, or the money of the panicked many
making this mind manipulate manically,
or maybe it was mechanically, manifested from another man
who planned this massive machinery of the madness,
as I grasp and gasp on this stranded planet.
But the mechanics, maniacs, nor the semantics mattered not.
Nor was it the matter sitting patiently in its complacent time,
waiting pacelessly with no frame of mind.
No, it wasn’t the latter, nor was it the ladder
reaching gracefully in the gracious sky
weeping for a space in a crazy time.

It was the space weaved in-between the lines,
anxiously craving a grateful mind
to carry the weight of a weightless design.
It waited and waded through the greatest of times,
wavered and catered to the wake-less minds.
But the maker never served the waiter
a wakeful mind in his feign-full design.
He blessed him with a wilted wake full of waste and lies
as the waiter wore through his withered wears
in a weary world full of wasteful time.