the sun does not hold its once brilliant blaze
a cloudy film has coated the mundane in dreary absolution
and the creaking heart toils away at what could have been
if only another choice had been made
this regret coils around the mind
in such a way that it is rendered useless
the want of betterment,
the need to rise above,
the trapped feeling when
the prison walls come slanting inward
and threaten to crush the fragile flower
living within
this sudden need to escape,
to fall from the flames,
to lick the life away from
dripping fingers
collapse is a reward -
disenchanted
disregarded
disassembled
and drowned
giving up rather
than giving in -
letting the automation
toil away with the unnecessary
and lay spent, encased
in their own self centered protest
everything has an angle,
a scheme,
a hidden interest -
to guide them,
to allow them to be,
to succeed when all
else is failure
we are the casualties
of betterment,
the casualties of
constant progress,
the casualties of
thriving
in our homes, stacked
with trash,
piled high,
floating in once pristine waters,
creating islands of sludge
over oceans raped,
we stand on nothing more
than a whisper
our voices are caught
by the greedy, the fat,
and the overfed whores
who sell ass for fame and
fortune at the cost of everything
we've tried to accomplish
it's no wonder why the children
run scared with their noses
stuffed into the latest technology
look around and try to find something
good to leave the coming generation
any progress we've made can be bought
and sold and thrown away into landfill
it's no wonder why the children scream,
why the children distance themselves,
why the children refuse to cooperate
with the wasteful tongues
it's no wonder why the children cry,
why the children hide,
why the children abandon
the lust from wasteful tongues
the sun does not hold its once brilliant blaze
a cloudy film has coated the mundane in dreary absolution
and we stand by, hoping the machine won't gobble up the gears
if only another choice had been made
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