You, me, them, us.
Supposed to be better than the last generation,
Supposed to be better than the sinful temptation.
Supposed to, supposed to, supposed to!
Get out.
Better, working, stagnant, void--
A tremble of sound whereas everything is toyed,
With.
Without a feral thought of mind, and shameless caged in of a vice design.
Get out,
Get out,
get out...
Why are we supposed to?
Who are any of us to degrade, and berate, and scream that anyone is not--
Was it really us? Was it really your definition of 'trust'?
You blame who you see but forget we didn't ask to be, it's you fault and now you hate that you have to take responsibility.
Cog, oil, nail, hammer, going through a meaningless existence for selfish wishes.
I'm supposed to help!
How can I help?
Can anyone help?
Please, stop...
It's too loud to stop because I'm supposed to be.
Then who can I ask, helps me?
Spoken word can only go so far, poetry and writing can only help a heart so,
is this even real, or was it just a simple inclination, of a decline in a nation?
But we're supposed to.
YOU ARE READING
Dichotomy
PoezieThe observant is always watching. Humanity is here and thriving, but our world won't be surviving our reign. Alive, but not noticed in living. Here we are. A new life, new words, a new start. Aug. 12th 2019 - June 18th 2021 Vol. 1
