Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
BrokepoetPoems
The drones made of skin and bone The drones with no minds of their own The drones entrapped in their homes tied to their tvs and cellular phones I see their pride in ignorance both jailer and keeper Who are enjoying this sentence as the bankers run the meter In a prison they were fooled to build and gladly accepting To pay their homage to the guild who commanded its erecting As the wardens stuff your faces with superstition and their pockets with the source of their fruition The drones programmed to obey The drones believe all that they say The drones Right from the womb taught to march to the tune straight into the tomb The drones keep questioning me The drones will not leave me be The drones made an outcast of me for failing to extinguish my humanity
0
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
The Drones (Stockholm Syndrome)
The drones made of skin and bone The drones with no minds of their own The drones entrapped in their homes tied to their tvs and cellular phones I see their pride in ignorance both jailer and keeper Who are enjoying this sentence as the bankers run the meter In a prison they were fooled to build and gladly accepting To pay their homage to the guild who commanded its erecting As the wardens stuff your faces with superstition and their pockets with the source of their fruition The drones programmed to obey The drones believe all that they say The drones Right from the womb taught to march to the tune straight into the tomb The drones keep questioning me The drones will not leave me be The drones made an outcast of me for failing to extinguish my humanity
Brokepoet
Written by
Brokepoet
M/American
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem