Panic Room
Panic Room
The game of the century
Is running amok
If mankind survives
It will just be by luck
The tree of knowledge
Our freedom of choice
Both a curse and a blessing
In the awareness of life
We have sold our hearts
To the culture commercial
Of unattainable adverts
Feeding the need and living on greed
As ego sucks on our insecurities
We charge on a head
Waving out bounteous flags
Of progress
Our cradle a dumping ground
Our home an ashtray
As we bury our conscience
In our own mausoleum of boredom
Hidden away in our panic room
Padded with money
Frantically seeking the very next meaning
Addicted to the thrill of purpose
And our own children
Have no other answer other than this
Or dogmatic confusions
Which offer them bliss
All constructed to deny the moment of death
And life goes forgotten
We live in a prison
Fed by our need and living on greed
Comfort and health
Are now the province of wealth
While the poor have to struggle
To maintain bone, blood and muscle
And until we see past our sea of possessions
Their life spans of economies made for
The wreckage and hollow shells
Of our own no more use for
We will remain mere “profit cells”
For corporate materials
Of industrial
Pharmaceuticals
Hiding away in the panic room
Padded with money
Frantically seeking the very next answer
To a society which has no more purpose
All constructed to deny the moment of death
While life goes on forgotten
We live in our own unsatisfied prison
Fed by our need and living on greed
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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