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Paul Knight-Kirby. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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I want you to run up this hill,
then continue until you cannot.
I want you to be socially and culturally harnessed
Into this unnecessary waste of your life.
I want you to tape this box, for longer than you can bare.
I want you to shut-off your imagination,
and internal advice of salvation.
I want you to labour your days into submissive bores
Focused on minor scores, like material and future investments.
I want you to suffer and cling to a unchanging fascade.
A beehive of pointless duty, no wax producing,
Just emotional confusion and fear.
Just unrelenting mechanical moans, rotting bones
And white smoke chimneys.
A cleaner time, baskets for rubbish, disposable cloths and cleaners.
Unlike before when logic was seen
Their ramifications of failure, fall like accumulative sticky cotton
A blizzard of shroud forever covering their ghastly plan aloud
Until old and lived on the impenetrable, lies evolved on
With modern crisis, modern time.
A family book of lies and us the pieces readily and willingly picked
Like a box of teddies to the vending claw loosely grabbing
Eventually snatching any being sought or played by our own
Weak allure to wanting more hypnoticly romanced by Hollywood's door.