This World Is Strange
The world, colored in the sharp contrasting colors of black and white, grey in
between, shift into a blizzard every time emotions begin to turn, to burn and boil, to
freeze and foil, and once long lines of connecting breaths and hearts of bright red,
turn black and disappear into the grey background, one has lost their connection
with life.
To stab one in the back, to fight someone to the end, to kill or be killed, seem like
animal instinct, to destroy what could repeat history, but in truth, to forget and
forgive, to turn the other way, to sing out appraisals to enemies and to criticize
friends is what is the truth of life. One small mistake and all turn upon one.
Should one make a mistake, and take upon the anger and rage of the world, they
would obviously be destroyed, but wonder, would this happen to others, when
others begin to be suspected.
The human race is a strange species of suspicion, paranoia, greed, envy, and rage.
We kill to eat, like the beasts, but unlike the beasts, we kill for sport, for game, to
take the pride that the world gives us.
We know not humiliation, and we know not control, so history shall forever be
repeated, more of 'the ones' shall be killed, so we shall forever be a race of
Destruction an Death.
Even I, one who hates such thinking, do as the race of the world.
I feel paranoid, suspicion, greed, envy, and rage. I am merely human and I feel like
human.
And even now, at times, I feel terrible, to be what I am.
A destructive monster, wanting nothing more then to take my place in the world of
high places, wonderful, but empty praise, and even more empty smiles.
One must wonder, do you feel proud to be human?
Copyright © Patricia Janero | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment