Distress

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


On this shoreline there's a war line 

now I draw my own line

and cast a line to those in line.

The human breed needs to be freed,

freed of greed and weeds - not weed.

Weeds, those bad seeds that force feed

us false hope that allows us to misread

what it means to succeed. 

Indeed the media is guaranteed to impede

and mislead us, mistreat and stampede us,

as they proceed to proofread and deceive us.

It's become greivous to discuss the treasonous,

but it's like they see trees in us.

 

Materials for these imperials

to impair our reels as we reel 

from a lack of real when were low

on meals or don't have wheels. 

Just wood, ripe for the taking,

piped up for the making,

typed on for the faking.

Griped on for our breaking,

as they're raking in all the leaves

that we perceive as necessary to breathe

beneath these monstrous thieves

that don't want us to retrieve whats ours.

Thousands of hours devouring

while we're stuck cowering and powering

through towering flames with "empowering" frames.

We're not even names, we're tamed and pained,

bloodstained and framed until we are

mudstained and strained,

then we are unframed and renamed

then retamed until we're driven insane

or completely refrain from hitting replay.

 

We relay all day, and we re-lay all day,

we also relay all day. Wait,

did he just say the same thing three ways?

No way, as different as shades of grey,

as different as weigh and way.

Now without delay its time to convey

or rather relay what it is I have to say.

I pray for you while you stray your view,

Im here to display the truth,

we're poisoning our youth, 

there's poison in your sooth and you

expect them to be bullet proof

for your fool-proof world spoof.

Where is the proof in your truth?

You're ruthless and we're rootless,

bootless, and I'll digress

but your muteness isn't cuteness

and absoluteness isn't resoluteness.

I'll confess that you're an abcess 

and we're depressed, you're in full dress

and we're distressed - all you do

is impress as you possess 

and you oppress so we regress.

 

I digress, I'm not here to express in excess,

I'm here to address the obsession

and oppression of your success.

The depression of our world,

the expression that you stole,

the impression that you mould -

You sell it like gold, to those that sold everything.

Now you hold everything,

and we're given only what you bring.

Stop deceiving, start relieving

so we can start believing in the real thing -

A sold ring of human beings that are

all-seeing and not all sinking.

 

 


Submitted: October 13, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Fayren Meric. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Ann Sepino

I must say, the strong, bold words and abundance of rhymes in this piece makes it very eye-catching. :)

Wed, October 14th, 2020 12:44am

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