what of love

What does it mean
to be here,now?
Merely reactionary forces
We've coalesced into
Figment and finder
Of all that wasn't.

Simple deviations
Destroyed purpose, perfect
And abandoned us with
This nothingingness
Both filling and befriended.

Little devoid decisions
Trickle down out of
Our open and eager eyes
Unready for our reality.

Quiet rebellion is inert,
Initialized anger absent.
Acceptance is everywhere.

We live in a world of waste,
Both spirit and soul, wasted.

But then, what of love