they spur us on with mock encouragement. a goal like a carrot dangling like a participle right before our eyes. and the tragedy and the misery and the waylaid things and the guilt they bring storm around inside. and the light that hides just seems to bind when i can not make it shine. but, 'on,' they scream, 'you must go on!' they will not let it go. i guess the mud doesn't seem such a bad place to rest when you can't seem to lift your head. so we strive for some vague representation of something we saw on t.v. and the time just ticks away.
so look at us now . . . they're selling us war! pick it up at the most convenient store. and now no one is paying attention. forcing it on unwilling consumers flooded the vast spectrum of media with rumors these weapons of mass destruction are just one big ******* mass destraction and look! there's no one paying attention. we've all turned our heads in some middle easternly direction a more reasonable enemy than our own ******* poverty.
but don't speak now, for we have not the time. just look. or march. but be quiet. and so we set sail to ****** ourselves as the majority disagree. and we fumble around in our pockets and shift our eyes to the sidewalks and step over cracks and break our own backs for our orange and coveted prize. but who gets the laugh when we all realize our surprise was just death in an edible disguise and a grave is a grave, regardless of whom it holds?
'on,' they cry, and 'on,' they cry, so shuffle, and sigh, and avert your eyes from the light that hides and will never shine on anything we do until we forget these disgusting concepts of death as a path to the truth.