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Alex Marks Poem
The smile on my face? Merely a facade
the truth is written in the lies
in an artificial world we belong
the faceless man, in a suit and tie,
whispers and I hear,
that he knows why I grin from ear to ear
but he doesn't care.
So on the clock ticks, bringing us closer to oblivion.
What could I do? But travel aimlessly behind him.
He leads me to a corridor, one that I have never seen before
then he tells me to extend my hand, and open the door
inside, stands a statue made from colorful clay
with a wave of his hand, it begins to decay
rainbows drip from a face once smiling.
I realize it's the image of me residing
and with a sad and heavy heart
we thus depart
back into the world of the organized genocide
with countless bodies floating in on the tide
Copyright © Alex Marks | Year Posted 2009
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