Posts Tagged ‘Society’

This is the suburbs,
Residential utopia,

Gardens disheveled and unkempt,

Children with blank faces,

Creaky marred front gates,

A young lady who hears all manner of sordid gossip,

A shed kept from prying eyes,

A policeman with lewd secrets of his own,

A community full of cliques,

A weary young man who keeps his basement locked,

A husband and wife who never look at one another,

A girlfriend head-to-toe in Stella Artois contusions,

A widow still in a black veil,

A crowded yellow school-bus never to get home,

Some utopia,
When perused closer,
Even the suburbs aren’t so idyllic.

The puppet sleeps soundly,
He smiles in his sleep,
Dreaming endlessly of a life unfulfilled,
A pointless life,
An empty life.

He dreams of paying obscene taxes,
He has notions of amounting to nothing,
He fantasizes about voting for tyrants,
He dreams of a dead-end job,
His life is not his own.

He has nightmares of a better life,
Nightmares of relaxation,
Nightmares of aspiring for more,
Nightmares of finding romance,
His life is that of a manikin.

His strings wait calmly,
Waiting for a new day,
A new dance,
A new missed chance,
A day closer to the rubbish heap.

And then he awakens,
This puppet is not made of wood,
But of flesh and bone,
His puppeteer is no entertainer,
But a society that doesn’t truly care.

Then the puppet puts on his suit,
And goes to work.

Puppet

Now they call him the Painted Man,
But once upon a time he had no name,
A true blank slate,
Eyes of grey,
And colourless hair.

Society gave him his colour,
Everyone who met him painted a stroke,
We were all artists,
His body was our canvas,
Our words to him were the brush.

Red of anger and frustration,
Blues of sorrow and disappointment,
Yellows of joy and excitement,
Greens of envy and want,
And myriad other shades of feeling.

He is now the Painted Man,
A creation of society,
A monument and a monster,
Are we really any different?
Were we not all painted?

Painted

Where will you be at the end of the world?
When the sky is aflame,
When the very ground shatters,
When society is a distant memory,
When all the states of the world crumble,
When lives end aplenty.

Will you be with your families,
Comforting one another in your last moments?
Will you be be with companions,
Celebrating and dancing among the flame?
Will you be in the streets,
Flailing feebly at the falling sky?

Will you be praying,
Begging non-existent entities to save your wretched soul?
Will you be raiding,
Clinging on to notions of greed even as mankind expires?
Will you be fighting,
Attempting hopelessly to save your fellow doomed souls?

Me?
Where will i be?
I’ll be at the epicenter,
Arms outstretched,
As if doting on the devastation,
A great big grin on my face,
Watching as the world burns finally.
Waiting hysterically for the screams to stop.
All vestiges of understanding and sanity burning up.

Where will you be?
Beside me?

180562_10150094463453016_1891348_n

Society

Posted: December 16, 2013 in Poems, Writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

Society can be many things, like a hydra has many heads.

Society can be the most extensive family tree.

Society can be the most extravagant party.

Society can be the most fearsome of beasts.

Society can be the most compassionate Samaritan.

Society can be a grotesque monster.

Society can be a truly destructive army.

Society can be a virus.

 

 

Society is the ultimate torture device.

An iron maiden, rack and a brazen bull all in one.

For me.