The Keeper

Beyond these slate grey hills and sullen skies
My spirit drives its body like a car.
And like some tourist, keeps returning where
Imagination greets realities..
Shotguns echo across the morning fields:
Each pleasure partnered with a little death.
Nine tenths of all we know, intangible;
The rest, anchored to whims of Mother Earth.
Till left alone to deal with everyday,
Such consequence as chance may pass my way.
I sometimes truly wonder, if it's best
To live in ignorance; or to be cursed
With an awareness, knowing that full well, 
There's little I can do to change the world.