Uniform, clad all the same.
Soldiers taking orders,
Slaves to the game,
The game of pay.
Clock in, and out, that's the end
Of my day,
Of my care,
Of my give a damn.
Hear that weak hollow call,
Weak moan to the halls.
Slicing the midnight silence,
Desperation pulled from the madness,
From the sadness of that loneliness.
Walk on by,
With my head held low.
Don't want no part,
Opening that can o' worms.
Time moves on,
Having escaped into the freedom of air,
Long past my care.
Those hours passed,
Remember my English class.
What if...
Wrote more then what I wrote off,
Was it a memory moaning,
Or the present in its bleeding,
Or just the bitter drip of insanity.
Remember what she said,
Now I know,
I am a hollow man.
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.
