Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2011
Not an idea machine,
Stop making me lead.
When I go, where I leave
You don’t know, I never told.
I don’t want you to follow me.
No, these feet go different ways.
So stop walking on invisible lines
That you said were mine,
Mine I made, no, I didn’t pave.

You were the trick; your words are fake.
They imprisoned me.
So when you call me please
Have something useless to say
I own too much silence
I got too much time
I don’t have much talent but I have the lime
Light under my feet
Waiting for me to stop standing mighty
And so afraid…

Don’t trip me, I never asked for your advice.
You weren’t the image of what I was looking for.
Not anything from the inside.
What I found was a raging tide.
No, I didn’t enjoy my conscious twisted in a blaze of fire
Darkness makes things get quiet
I might have lost your words through the babble of your cries
What did you want me to do?
What did you say to me that got me so confused?
You say to be a leader
Lead, lead into a sea of war
Follow, listen, and be constant and always aware
Don’t you think, don't you make me feel like I'm losing air
Give poison thoughts,
And go through countless tries to destroy everything I’ve got.

Isolation, my longtime master
She feeds me the wrong ones;
The ideas that people make people dream of death
Standing there in the dreaming world on the concrete edge of bridges
I was looking down, standing proud
The world doesn’t want to know me now.
So where I looked,
There is no sight of ground
Then the blue, it brushes in displays of truth.
It calls for failure,
It wants me to give in,
Making me think I could live if I died of sin.
I found I was already alive and life, I loved.
Not the easy the way out, I cannot jump.

I’m not your idea machine,
And I won’t be a copy maker,
Reprinting of originals that could not lead;
Ersatz generic products fed to you.
Don’t you understand I am the son you cannot mend?
Tell me, was it worth the while with all that will?
I am well, my thoughts are well, or can’t you tell?
Have you gone and infused to the cold machine?
Are you a part of their humanitarian guillotine?
Written by
Kenneth Fox
707
   ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems