head wall bounce

there isn't hope of any good or end
but what we build and that's so weak
for any good we want or could seek
the answer comes in backward trend
whatever's made or what we send
matters little we know that the meek
are eaten by the strong and at the peak
of power there's nothing that can bend
discovery of just how much to bear
that load's not made for ordinary back
the road goes up there's no plateau
each journey's day seems like a year
there is no light upon this track
when we are come then must we go