Born of the back n' forth
Breed for the sporadic, child of the chaotic
A hunter stood amidst the sown of seed
Is it really a surprise?
He weaves a web of lies
Is it really a surprise?
He finds no comfort in coming home tonight
Back and forth
Mom, and Dad, Grandma, Gramps
House, Motel, Flat
No difference, just another bed
Sometimes he stops, and stares at the sons of seed
Sown prime for reaping
Upper to middle class, with all that class
He pokes and prods from the sanctuary of the looking glass
And can't help but to ask
As he prods in the reflection
So, alien, so foreign
"Why?"
YOU ARE READING
Symptoms
PoetryPoetry. Love. Happiness. Sadness. Depression. Guilt. Regret. Struggle and Confliction. We may all be breathing, we may all have our hearts beating. But these are our vital signs. These are symptoms that prove we're alive.
