If
people
push others down
to clamber to the top,
how low
must we all be
now?
I can't help but think
of the voices
unheard
though screaming
from underneath
the dirty soles
of the mouths spitting dead sparks,
the people
yelling garbage
through the loudspeaker
clutched
in their sweating hands
And then think
of the idlers
shifting from foot to foot
as their ears accept
the flood of lies
and slowly, slowly
pull the people up
to even
higher
ground
letting the others
reaching from below
to sink to oblivion.
Then I wonder
at how
at the end
everyone looks
for one person
to point a finger at
And finally I think
of how
we only have
ten fingers
and how
that will never
ever
be enough.
YOU ARE READING
Feathers: A Book of Poetry
PoetryA pencil is the spotlight of a soul. It tells them its okay to overflow. It tells them ideas are art, and that the best ones are masterpieces. Feathers is a collection of poetry by me to convey the beauty and undeniable strife of the world, and emot...
