Stop
Every morning when I rise,
I submit myself to mechanical tide,
Noxious fumes sweeping spirits' away,
As the dawn breaks in a brand new day.
Dusty tears' soak through my cold hide,
Glazed expressions' mirror me each side,
Reflections' of despair constantly display,
From within ironed pressed suits of grey.
News headlines torment me every night,
Sad tales of torture while freedom fights,
I'm living under a tiny glimmer of hope,
Where petty cash buys your own rope.
It is barely a life amidst the masses,
Breathing in our own toxic gasses,
Gorging upon fruit from the tree,
While watching global poverty.
Lust,
Romance,
To love one another,
Yet kill someone's brother.
When will it ever be enough?
Stop the pain.
(c) 2015 PJ Bayliss
Copyright © Pj Bayliss | Year Posted 2015
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