Agony

Absolutely quaint it is-
To be an arrow
Against sprouting kind,
Reaping the fallacies
Of a meritocratic mind

Riddle me, quick
If it is a joke to stand
Against the fine-grained sand
None of which, belonging to this land

For one to look
Up into nothingness
Would filters, exposures 
And brutal provocateurs
Possess my very mind-
To call reality, another alibi?