In a land of preconditions
Set upon a hollowed hill,
We partake in nuclear fission,
The implosion large and shrill.
Who stands during the fall,
Who can ever stay afloat?
Life makes fools of us all,
Learning everything by rote.
We rise and fall each day,
Marching onward toward our death,
On bent knee we pray
Evermore wasting our breath.
Who lives after they die?
Who, in death, can really live?
We try to laugh as we cry.
We all take, but rarely give.
In a land of meritocracy,
We're stuck in a hellish mire.
In life there's no democracy,
Just effigies burned on the pyre.
Who's free while still entombed?
Whose fears ever find release?
We are all exiled from the womb.
Death owns us, we have no peace.
We rise and fall each night.
Bereft, we've lost all hope.
There is nothing but our plight.
We've lost our ways to cope.
Who knows they're really alive,
Who can discern such truth?
In this world we're all deprived,
Grasping at the air for proof.
In a land of divisions,
The fortress sits upon a skull.
Our ship escapes without provisions,
As blackened oil sleeps from our hull.
Who understands our position,
Who determines where we'll go?
Our ignorance blossoms into fruition,
We are pantomimes in a talkie show.
Clueless on being clued in,
Separated from the whole,
We feel perfect while in sin,
We close the gates on our soul.
Who has been across the river,
Who's seen the promised land?
The cold nights make us shiver,
We await eternal reprimand.
In a land with no communion,
Where we promote our own divinity,
Can there be any spiritual union,
Or is death our only reality?
Who's kept even all accounts,
Who as accepted their own fall?
Not one of us shall pronounce
That we haven't crashed the ball.
Masqueraded by Satan's face,
The mirror never ever lies.
As time is forgotten in space,
Except the beasts in us, all else dies.
Who can even shed the pain,
Who can race against the sand?
This wilderness envelopes our shame,
We are entombed in this land.
Set upon a hollowed hill,
We partake in nuclear fission,
The implosion large and shrill.
Who stands during the fall,
Who can ever stay afloat?
Life makes fools of us all,
Learning everything by rote.
We rise and fall each day,
Marching onward toward our death,
On bent knee we pray
Evermore wasting our breath.
Who lives after they die?
Who, in death, can really live?
We try to laugh as we cry.
We all take, but rarely give.
In a land of meritocracy,
We're stuck in a hellish mire.
In life there's no democracy,
Just effigies burned on the pyre.
Who's free while still entombed?
Whose fears ever find release?
We are all exiled from the womb.
Death owns us, we have no peace.
We rise and fall each night.
Bereft, we've lost all hope.
There is nothing but our plight.
We've lost our ways to cope.
Who knows they're really alive,
Who can discern such truth?
In this world we're all deprived,
Grasping at the air for proof.
In a land of divisions,
The fortress sits upon a skull.
Our ship escapes without provisions,
As blackened oil sleeps from our hull.
Who understands our position,
Who determines where we'll go?
Our ignorance blossoms into fruition,
We are pantomimes in a talkie show.
Clueless on being clued in,
Separated from the whole,
We feel perfect while in sin,
We close the gates on our soul.
Who has been across the river,
Who's seen the promised land?
The cold nights make us shiver,
We await eternal reprimand.
In a land with no communion,
Where we promote our own divinity,
Can there be any spiritual union,
Or is death our only reality?
Who's kept even all accounts,
Who as accepted their own fall?
Not one of us shall pronounce
That we haven't crashed the ball.
Masqueraded by Satan's face,
The mirror never ever lies.
As time is forgotten in space,
Except the beasts in us, all else dies.
Who can even shed the pain,
Who can race against the sand?
This wilderness envelopes our shame,
We are entombed in this land.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved. Written circa 2011.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: September 11th, 2025 08:30
- Comment from author about the poem: For Throwback Thursday. This poem, In this Land, was written in 2011. I had nearly forgotten it, yet in light of yesterday’s events in Utah and in light of the anniversary of September 11, it feels hauntingly present. A lament of division, spiritual emptiness, and the futility of our self-made fortresses. Sometimes the old words speak louder than I remember.
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 21
- Users favorite of this poem: Priya Tomar, Teddy.15, GenXer Shamrocker ☘️, Salvia.S
Offline)
Comments8
A powerful poem with some great lines and concepts. One that stands out particularly to me is:
Who's free while still entombed?
Whose fears ever find release?
We are all exiled from the womb.
Death owns us, we have no peace.
Very nicely worded my friend
Thank you, so much, my friend. I am glad it delivered and am always amazed how an old poem can be eerily relevant years later. Thanks for your time and thoughts. Much appreciated! 💀🌑⏳🙏
You are most welcome Tristan yes poems have no expiration date
Excellent write !
Thank you, Priya! 💀🌑⏳🙏
In this land... lives Obi & Co. Well, Popeye had enough mentions. What do they do in the land? Don't answer that! lol.
Why they.....................🤐! Thanks Orchi...you caught me just in time! 💀🌑⏳🙏
Good thing I told you not to answer that! lol.
We are now closer to world war 3 than we have ever been, this world is a dark place right now, and it's not just in America that theirs a great divide it's also in Europe. A profoundly powerful piece of poetry 🌹
And how. So true, Teddy. It is scary and you are right, it is a global issue. Some of us here, myself, are noticing that too...especially those of us who tune into to news outside of the USA. Hard to believe 2025 looks worse than when it was written. So glad that the poem delivered, my dear friend. 😬 💀🌑⏳🙏
So much truth and knowledge here. Heavy hearts today for so many. Great write my friend 🙏
Thank you so much dear friend. Heavy hearts indeed. 💀🌑⏳🙏
Honestly, while I agree with this interpretation, I also find it comforting that there is a constant in life.
Exactly, 🥷…constancy can be a comfort, especially when the world around feel chaotic and uncertain. And in those moments, as we take comfort, we are reminded that not everything shifts under our feet. 👣 💀🌑⏳🙏
Haha, so true, and what on earth have I become to be comforted in death?! What a long way I have fallen from my young years...
I must have jumped the gun on #tbt (throwback Thursday) with posting up "the old home" and "child, ONE child." 🤣 This unflinching lament from 2011, is built on a chain of rhetorical questions and stark imagery that interrogates the human condition. It features a tone of relentless pessimism yet, its very persistence suggests a refusal to be numbed, making it both a cry for meaning as well as a declaration of despair.
Exactly, my friend…you caught the heart of it. The chain of questions, the stark images, the relentless pessimism that still refuses to be numbed. It’s both a cry for meaning and a declaration of despair...and I’m grateful you saw and named that tension. Much appreciated. 💀🌑⏳🙏
Most welcome my friend 🕊️🙏🏻
Your poem beautifully captures the struggle of finding meaning and freedom in a world filled with division, suffering, and illusion. It’s a powerful reflection on life, death, and the search for truth amid chaos. Very well written dearest Tittu 🌹 ❤️ A fave 🌹
Dearest Salvia, your words touched me deeply…you named the struggle, the search for truth, the weight of division and illusion. It’s heavy, but the presence of people such as you brings warmth into it. I’m truly grateful, my friend. 💀🌑⏳🙏
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