Sad Society Poems - Poems about Sad Society

There's no such thing as progress

there is ugliness in this world
where there is no need for it

why do we tolerate indifference
injustice, brutality and greed
when there's plenty to go around

it's a game of checkers for the have's
and mere survival for the have-not's



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

and the good guys lost

and the good guys lost


all of us ‘got feet of clay
we are tainted, corrupted
and who of us will not say
"no, not me, I will be trusted"
we've come a long way, 'never stay too long
we'll have the last word if only to be wrong

evolution has gone to hell
myopic fighting for peace
ev'ry sucker for himself
all hail, this

Price of Freedom

An old man once said:
Freedom isn’t free

As a child, I grew up,
never understanding those words.

As an adult, I learned,
the tree of freedom is watered with blood.
I thought we had paid enough.

But as trees wither without water,
so does freedom without its tribute.

As such I hoped,
we could pay with sweat and duty.
But once again-we choose red...

Boys and Girls Who Dream And They Die

These days I often find myself
lying on my pristine rock, hard bed 
thinking about why the world would 
ever care about someone like me. 
I wonder how my thoughts ever drifted
this far. Maybe social media?
Or my own self-conceit, brimming with 
forbidden passions even van Gogh or Picasso
couldn't imagine. Yet, I only say that
because I can't

To Whom it may Concern

To whom it may concern; I don't have a memory of being afraid of the dark, from the youngest of age never fearing angels, demons or anything with a spark. 

Eight-legged critters seem more like a friend, but anything with a heartbeat and most without, I will always defend. 

Some of the worst things people can experience:

empty building

arrive in an
empty
hollow
building
(alone
no purpose)

arrive in a
hollow
empty
building
(alone
no purpose)

arrive in a
purposeless
hollow
building
(alone
empty)

empty in a lonely building without purpose
empty
mpty
pty
ty
y

Sign of the Times

     Little Davie wants to pray like a pro
     Too bad for Davie that he doesn’t know
        His mentor is a fraud
        His conduct deeply flawed
     Every night, to

thorns in the glass

“there are thorns in the glass”
the baby exclaims
as she points, points, points
to the mirror of life,
yet no one listens,
and she is ignored.

“there are thorns in the glass”
the child cries,
tugging at men’s jackets,
grabbing women’s hands,
yet she’s pushed away 
and she is ignored.

“there are thorns in the glass”
the teen announces,
protesting and marching,
yelling and telling,
and there is no

My Boat

I built my boat up, sawdust in my eyes
Love and kindness ingrained since my younger years
Now just a pile of wood

I built my boat up, my hands aching
So it would withstand the storm
Now soaked with hate

The first fisherman came and said,
“I cannot get any fish, may I get your aid?”
To which I replied, “Of course,”
How

Look At Me

How life has changed
Simplicity no longer reigns
Now a society of ‘look at me’
Lost is self respect and modesty

Breasts and bums on display
Faces plastered in clay
Bodies injected with toxins
Natural beauty no longer an option

Plastic people with plastic minds
Self absorption and vanity combined
Every movement captured on phone
Posed and poised down to the bone

Never present in the here

waiting for something

gray sky swallows
  a surly surface

gritty sky smothers
  a solitary sleepwalker

i sit
i sit & wait
       & wait 
               & wait 
            

The Sadness of the Brazilian Forests

I write the sadness of the Brazilian forests, 
About modern centuries and glass cities,
Tattooed Indians who are murdered too,
For a handle of gold or green diamond,

I write the greatness of Brazilian forests
Roots that descend to explore the earth,
Leaves that capture white light,
Suns that fall on the wild jaguar,

I write the sadness of the Brazilian forests,
Friends

The Raging Fire

The raging fire. 
A poem by him. 

I am the raging fire. 
Smiting the innocent and purging the oxygen. 
Churning out the black of waste that we have all become. 
Progress is not what comes anymore. 
If we needed progress, it would not kill us. 
If progress was positive I wouldn’t be here. 
I wouldn’t

I Can'T Sleep

I can’t sleep. 
A poem by him. 

The days go by like the wind. 
Though the wind never passes. 
Wind is a cycle, one that can only be broken by our insolence. 
I can’t sleep. 
Not when the evil of I looks back to me in the mirror. 
Why can’t I see a person? 
I

Escape From a Plague of Pain

She searched for Paradise,
instead,
the road led her to a land of demise.
A plague of pain had rolled out on this land,
it had spread across, through the evil tongue.

She looked around,
mainly
suppressed souls were found.
Silent roars of their sufferings extend for miles,
screams were suffocated, behind fabricated smiles.

Foul tongues were twisted together,
gathered under narcissistic scarves.
Sharp words were wounding

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