The officials in

their official light blue shirts --


around little chest.

(You)niform:
Remaining the same in all cases;
consistent; steady

As I was climbing the steps,
Today after school…
I felt a pang of claustrophobia,
Despite being outdoors…
As I watched the herd of students in uniform,
Both in clothing and in conversation…
I felt scared.

Because I was a part of that herd.
One which mindlessly spent its days,
Spent,
In accordance to the routines of the society,
Their personalities among other things.

All those kids,
In preparation for standardized tests,
Had become standardized as well…

They were forced to fit a mold,
For so long, that they didn’t have to be forced anymore,
And it had all happened so quickly, just like the way mold covers food,
And it had come to seem so permanent, just like patina covering brass,
Hiding the quirks and the character of the statue for all eyes to see, through corrupting it.
They had turned fit to false ideals.

The stair was full of black coats,
As if to make the uniforms even more uniform.

And even the rare spring-like winter day,
Hadn’t made me want to break the routine that day,
To run away into a field
(If I could find a field in the concrete jungle,
The one that I hadn’t yearned to desert just yet,
Though I should’ve made any place my field, anyways.)
And to dance & lie among wild flowers,
Each one unique and not uniform at all.
Even the trees around the stairs looked one and the same,
But how could the system curb even,
The one thing supposed to be unrestrainable,
The uncurbably roaring nature,
To bend it in its will against diversity.
Just like it had done to us…

But then I saw kids playing in the soccer field,
Not a field of flowers, but a field nevertheless
They did seem to be thinking differently,
Their laughs didn’t resemble each other’s
So it was growing up which had made us like that,
A premature maturity,
Which would be premature even at the age of eighty,
(If it could even be considered maturity)
Which had stripped away our individuality,
And had made us a homogeneous flood, sweeping away all identity

And I still am a captive of the desperation that had taken a hold of me in that brief glance,
I still don’t know what to do,
Humanity, help me,
Aid me in melting these cages,
Through the heat of the stars presents in your minds as well as your hearts,
To recover individuality.

For I refuse to give up,
And to loose myself in the flood

Every time I see men in uniform
I'm reminded of how you threw your life away
Willed yourself a killing storm
Leaving me with nothing to say

I believe in reincarnation
Someone will pick your soul out
Of the trash filled mountain, making of you a new creation
And I hope- no. I know without a doubt

You will be a flea.

From Amiens upon the Somme
Across the land into the Salient
Our brave men toed the ebbing line

Through wire and mines
Through mud and blood
Through many men and horses shred
Under sun and moon
Through wet and flake
Little rest they won as they fought
The testing yards and inching miles

The scent of death clear in their heads
Their nostrils burning from hell resent
Cauterised wounds some munition singed a deathly end for some
Their eyes by night a blazing fired earth of blues Oranges yellows Reds

Their ears ringing whistles and drums
A sense of booming dread as all around the melee continued
Death by death, Man by man, Son by son
Precious sons many in numbers they did succumb
To the battle cry of walk not run

Blood curdling in their gas filled lungs
Fungi in their rotting boots
Sweat and tears in itchy suits
Muscles aching tendons taught
Nerves for some as they were next
To mount and face the hidden land
Where fate would deal its dreaded blow
On to meet the dreadful wall of death

Choice was none, no turning back
They stood as force though force would guide, those of fear and wisdom's stand,
Over, or rest where shot by those by order for descent


© Robert Kingston 17.10.14

Accepting my generation is kind of hard, everyday mental capacities are sabotaged, take a glance at my peers & everybody's identity is camouflaged
It's an age where there's a long line of scars, their inner image is cut down reduced like wood to a cabin lodge, & they don't realize one day they'll have to pay for pretending, identity theft is a major kind of fraud.
No mind desires to think for itself, they wait on the next topic like a lecture class, only to not develop their own opinion on a topic already selected for them, it's like a professor giving a quiz with the answers listed.
Love is ridiculed & you're chastised if it's felt, my brothers and sisters are clearly broken, a generation of fractured glass, & my soul aches as I observe minds that were predestined for uniqueness be restricted and uniformed to one day wake looking for their life realizing they've missed it.
The other day I found myself on the Twitter page of a boy who has counterfeited my essence & over written the gift God gave him that is his own style, his own thoughts, his one fights.
I felt no anger rather sympathy, the avidity to help, to show and tell him that no flesh is of greater value than another, that his mind is as onliest as my own, & rather than borrow my charisma he should seek his own until a fit feels right.
Everyone witnesses this tragedy but so many are blind to it. Social media sets the standard of what you guys feel, accept, avoid and address & those actions are the root of what will define you & should originate from your own spirit and core.
Believe it or not the opinion of the public you're not assigned to it, Don't let opinions lead you astray from the real, to neglect, and compress those remaining fractions of who you really are screaming out to be heard and glorified more.
Consider we live in a generation where guys will crave for women who are generous with their bodies & then give advice for another man to steer clear of a woman who has shared the very thing they search for & chastise that guy if he shows any emotion toward her.
Comprehend I observe girls complaining about immature men & being blistered by bad intentions but have the audacity to turn down a genuine and God abiding man down simply because he isn't a quarterback or a power forward.
We lack identity. So often we say our parents just don't understand but how could they? We glorify pain and lend scars, social media has made everyone feel as if they're famous, pretend stars, personalities blending together like a *** of gumbo, inseparable, undeniably the same and we wonder why we can't tell who our friends are?
Narcotics are consumed by the plenty, minds are poisoned with false values we've enveloped ourselves in, no one longer values a good person but rather what that person has that is valuable & they say we're the future? If you ask me, we are where the end starts.

Absent Identity -Dash Pinder