Oh this youth,
standing in crowds in replica to their own.
Only perceiving the pursue of whats new and whats next.
Its a hunger for relevancy,
a persona.
Those in angst, in stride of going against.
Those in discard, choosing to ignore.
Those in bliss, falling into ignorance.
All unwittingly failing to look in the mirror to gander
at their true **** reflection. . . . . .
Yet they move as one amoebic parasite, reproducing at every
pleasure their senses receive.
But the perfumes and scents still fillthe condensed air.
Disguising the real wrank fumes of our the product we consume.
Soon, like every phase in history, these
images will be lost along with the ones who chase it.
But the moments before they're gone,
they will realize that none of the objects they have
obtained, were ever relevant.
Only holding back the true **** beauty
of the human kind, its experiences, and the wonder of the reality we actually live.
Don't follow the minds from the past.
These ideas will again be cycled.
It is our choice to evolve from our gluttonous behaviors and let our mother regain what it has lost.
What we know will be taken by time.
