Disillusioned

Suppose it all turns out that the way of the world
is the only way we really know.
Yet we always seem to find ourselves on
deserted islands where we don't speak the native tongue.
We can't always be thinking of survival when this
here chance for enlightenment could be the only one.

With our noses pushed down on the grindstone,
how can we ever find the sun?
When we're always stuck on 'eliminate mistakes'
we seem to forget to learn.
The moon and stars that have guided us home
end up becoming our scars.