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Prosaic-Scriptor — We The People
Published: 2010-01-14 07:38:48 +0000 UTC; Views: 414; Favourites: 2; Downloads: 6
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Description
there is no hope for tomorrow,not when today savagely wrests
the virgin roots of prosperity
from the blanketing topsoil
that shelters life.
emotions are bartered
in flashes, too quick for sluggish
mortal eyes to follow.
happiness is 50% off.
dreams are humanity's
sanitized, pre-packaged prayers;
snippets of the yawning chasm
of uncertainty
simmering sluggishly in a
pasteurized mind--
we live in boxes;
unhatched Fabergé eggs,
dank cellars of our minds
bedecked by imaginary jewels
we price too high;
choosing to invest our love
in frigid pebbles
rather than ourselves.
crab-like we scuttle;
watch us hoard our preciosities
like the decomposed, shriveled souls
fed tenderly like
beloved children on the fumes
of cigarettes and
mind-haze of cheapened narcotics.
we spin in circles,
dancing unhappily through the muddy
paths of our pathetic lives;
cut-and-paste us and we are all
the same,
hitching our goals on the
tassels of a sleigh bound
to flip gracefully off a burning
snowbank...
no exit sign is in sight,
but we paint ourselves in happy lies
once more to keep looking
for any escape-
till
we die in restraints
of our own making.
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Comments: 1
Even though this poem is a little sad, it is very lovely!
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