To be free would to not be compounded in this concrete prison of
fallacies and folly.
The education of ignorance only teaching us to obey,
Not create.
Line us up like factory workers, stifling a raised hand if it asks too big
a question.
We can speaks as long as our speech isn't too loud.
Hey! Put that cell phone down,
Communication and connection leads to corruption.
Now, cross your legs,
sit up straight, take pride in the number assigned.
They'll remind us that we've got it better,
But there is a reason
we define best and better differently.
Just enough
Won't cut it, not when we crave to be heard in the roar of apathy.
Yeah, we're free,
as long as we color inside of the lines.
YOU ARE READING
Where the Garden Ends
PoesíaWhere the garden ends, And weeds begin, Here, true living stems. A collection of poetry
