The million mirror faces
Of the specialized class
Where do you sleep at night?
Who ships whispers to your ear?
Is there a soul even in there?
Does not knowing allow for all this
All of this
To go on
Born atop a mass grave
Of scrap book photo albums
With faces human
But not an empathetic note
Of humanity
Left inside me
The task is too great
The rules were written in blood
Which has dried and turned
Black as the present ink
Where are we headed?
Where would we even go?
How do so many go on living like this?
How do I go on when I know I know so little?
Life is choice
And choice is a life
God gave us both
One and the same
Hallowed out like a
Grandfather
Red wood tree
Who watches his children
Be chopped to bits and
Pieces
For the enjoyment of our young's
Smokes and
Policies looked at
(By eyes of grey and marble)
And deemed impassable
The ladder is not ours to climb
The ladder is an illusion
They have built only a
Noose and thrown in a
Complimentary
Thick brown rope
You ask yourself, "Where do I start?"
You ask yourself, "When can I stop"
You ask yourself,
"When the eyes have finally
Opened,
When will I know?"
You will know
When it is the end
And
The beginning
And nothing
Has a
Name
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 12:27 AM UTC
The million mirror faces
Of the specialized class
Where do you sleep at night?
Who ships whispers to your ear?
Is there a soul even in there?
Does not knowing allow for all this
All of this
To go on
Born atop a mass grave
Of scrap book photo albums
With faces human
But not an empathetic note
Of humanity
Left inside me
The task is too great
The rules were written in blood
Which has dried and turned
Black as the present ink
Where are we headed?
Where would we even go?
How do so many go on living like this?
How do I go on when I know I know so little?
Life is choice
And choice is a life
God gave us both
One and the same
Hallowed out like a
Grandfather
Red wood tree
Who watches his children
Be chopped to bits and
Pieces
For the enjoyment of our young's
Smokes and
Policies looked at
(By eyes of grey and marble)
And deemed impassable
The ladder is not ours to climb
The ladder is an illusion
They have built only a
Noose and thrown in a
Complimentary
Thick brown rope
You ask yourself, "Where do I start?"
You ask yourself, "When can I stop"
You ask yourself,
"When the eyes have finally
Opened,
When will I know?"
You will know
When it is the end
And
The beginning
And nothing
Has a
Name