In the single moment hands were tied,
And frowns were branded onto our faces until we were told otherwise.
Reflections of our dead faces
Hundreds of screens--
People walking in lines,
To be on time for the searing of our conscious,
For we are not to have a drop of conscious about the state of being.
Men and women marching up and down clinking grey machinery, to develop more of our--
lifeless scenery.
And there we worry about the green fading to grey
And who will pray to the gods we do not have.
Designing babies fit for their gears to run like clockwork in the society of notoriety,
We no longer aim for sobriety.
May we die middle aged to find some peace,
May we mutilate our bodies to find some love,
May we foreplay never and bleed red in pain.
Nothing has been done,
Signed away the legal happiness left, on bureaucratic papers.
Breathing;
Not living,
Living with the illegal laugh.
~ By me (Bella Cundall-Holmes)
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PoetryThis is a collection of my poetry. It varies from styles, but it is what I have worked on for years. To me, poetry is a truly special thing, It is to me at least. It is a way to express the the great or sadness in your own life or within the life of...
