Whatever it might be
It’s them and not me
Something found you’ll still miss
The thing is…
I can’t put my finger on it
Darkness can never be lit
Never cease nor desist
The thing is…
You’ll find a problem you look for
In colour, creed, or much more
Whether words or a fist
The thing is…
We all bleed one way
Same colour, red – every day
The thing is…
We are all in this.
Together.
The Sun carries the fate
Of our future on its back
The Son carries the weight
Of his past in his pack.
The Sun practices beaming
Ready for the summer show
The Son forever dreaming
Of freedom free to grow.
The Sun solemn staring
At a world disintegrating
The Son struggles caring
In a world hell-bent on hating.
The Sun won’t last forever
But will far out last the Son
The Son’s a trifle clever
But he won’t surpass the Sun.
They love when you’re whole
But despise you when you ain’t
The black and dark of the hole
Is nothing they could ever paint
It’s what you read and learn
Propaganda for the eyes and ears
And the more you pay and earn
Will only ever amplify your fears
Cause they don’t care about us
They want us blinded all the while
Misgiving honest trust
And sucking poison with a smile.
All the poison
All the while.
The only way is up when rock bottom’s been hit
After your mind has been smeared from a fan full of shit
When life didn’t pan out quite exquisite
And you’re chewing real dirt tasting your own true grit.
It’s hard to be wholesome in a world so broken
Surrounded by sleeping minds afraid to be woken
Fractured leg-acies left bereft and unspoken
Whilst taken and took as a novelty token.
The denial of free thought and free speech through laws
Show the fights of the future won’t be physical wars
True freedom lives between those ears of yours
In the mind of a rebel who trebles their cause.
Thoughts are running wild
Their hoofs unruly; trample
Cerebellum sands reviled
Scatter, scurry and they scramble
A lack of understanding
As to why this burden carries
Aptitude is demanding
Mind and fear; forever marries
It’s hard to point the pin
If there ever really was one
In self-loathing, selfish skin
That coalesces til it’s gone
Yes, the suffering it stings
But the feeling never lasts
The ‘only hope’ should cling
Yielded tight within the grasp.
Making the mark
But it’s benevolence burst
Daunting and dark
A world that awards the worst.
Respect; it retreated
Future is frantically fearful
Discussion gets deleted
Tumult is tyrannic and tearful.
Riding the rails
Halfway heaven and hell
Fighting yet frail
Fortune? Forever it fell.
When you’re told what to think
By populist rhetoric and martial law
When you’re told when to blink
Twenty twenty two is nineteen eighty four.
When your mental health’s on the brink
From constant pressure galore
And your heart starts to sink
Twenty twenty two is nineteen eighty four.
When your only relief is drugs and drink
And your spirit is broken to its core
As they dismantle every link
Twenty twenty two is nineteen eighty four.
When your future’s as bright as invisible ink
Wondering; is it really worth fighting for?
When dreams so big are forced to shrink
Twenty twenty two is nineteen eighty four.
Poetry is fun
And relief from life’s stresses
Let fly winged thoughts.
Sword says to Pen
“I’m tougher than you,
A cock to your hen.
You’ll suffer for true.”
Pen says to Sword
“I embrace what I’ve heard
And for your reward
I gift you my words.”
Sword was most pleased
Thinking Pen was relenting
And Sword’s bluster ceased
From the furious venting
But Pen sat and smiled
Knowing words can’t be owned
And Sword then beguiled
Had now been dethroned
Pen to Sword whispered
“Words belong to one and all,
Every madam and mister,
And pride comes before the fall.”
Isn’t it funny?
What people will do for money
The world still turns
No matter how much we earn
You can preach the scriptures
Or take some erotic pictures
But the only one that wins
Is a banker or a prince
Cause you’ll never matter at all
To those with collateral
And you can spend your time working
But the rich will suck your worth in
Our essence has been thwarted
By corporations who purported
Unrealistic rumours
That…
It’s quintessential to be consumers.
poorman'sdreams 