A Poem to Wake Myself Up (Hour 22)

A swelling reservoir of insignificant bustling, 
the roaring byproduct of crowded masses, 
shapeless faces, eyes that count lights, 
eyes and mouths speaking, so many talking, 
breathing, wasting themselves all over the surface.

Death by automobile, 
gasping like malfunctioning robotic fish, 
mouth agape in the thin hot air. 
Bloody divers unleashed from his abdomen.

Death by diet, by pills, 
by isolation in a crowd of unconnected persons. 
Masks and decadence. 
Images paraded above life dying within. 
Unaware of the slipping veil, 
too consumed to feel the soul's departing 
bit by horrible bit.

Swathes and swathes of people. 
Names and places, 
but the crowd is nameless, 
all people taking up space, 
what disconnect has led us here? 
What disenchantment eats at my own heart?

The rush to sell and buy. 

Thriving measured by consumerism. 
The chase and competition all around. 
To live and die for turning that great wheel. 
All standing on the backs of some, 
to lick the boots of others. 
No ones back is weightless. 
No ones tongue is clean.

We deserve our cancers. 
We deserve our failing hearts. 
We deserve the strangualating cholesterol, 
chemical sterility. But our children dont.

The children deserve something better.

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