Confessional Poem

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Replaying the opportunities

thrown down in the trash

By these ignorant hands;

Recycle, Reuse, Reduce.

Picking out our every fault

Is always sung off key.

Trapped in the low bars

Of self-esteem;

Hating me won't give you wings.

We're hiding in the labels taped

To our innocent shirts;

We don't need names

When our clothes speak.

I'm defined by the unoriginal;

'Attention! Attention!

Plain Jane has a comeback!'

Crash.

And.

Burn.

'Hey, he's got talent!'

Click.

'Sure, but she's got glamour!'

Flash.

Industries steered by

Paper-thin charm.

Oh dear,

Where has the ingenuity

Run off to this time?

...Why do I bother to look?

We're just too preoccupied:

Flip open the newspaper,

Land on the comics.

'Ha ha ha.'

Life is good - laughter.

If you happen to go a page earlier,

You'll see cries for your help.

Life's shouting for attention;

One second gone, two, three.

Let's just blame everything

On this pocket watch.

It's just easier that way.

Oh these actions I despise-

A dramatic never-ending film.

Dead roads that keep on going,

Slowly ruining the pleasant, and

Up rising the horrible.

Well now,

Society is a confession on its own;

Degrading.

Divulging...

Demolishing.

'Congratulations!

We're all extinct.'

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Copyright ©2007 by giv arya