Forgotten
What if life followed a straight line?
What if it didn’t spiral?
What if the world were perfect, just for a second?
Would we all really be happy?
Or would we just sit around waiting for an explosion?
Is that what we want?
To live behind a ticking time bomb?
Just like sheep waiting to be slaughtered,
While eating grass in a meadow full of sunshine?
What if the rain never came?
What if the sunshine stayed?
Would that make us happy?
Or would we crave the sky’s tears yet again?
Is that who we are?
Do we just sit around
Hoping for a better life
When in reality, perfection is right under our nose?
America is a bomb.
A bomb that blows when the sunshine hits.
Do we just take, and take, and take until the world cries?
Until it cries like a child who’s had its rattle stolen?
The trip across the Atlantic wasn’t just a new beginning.
It was the beginning of the end.
Our pale faces, our pale fists,
Have stolen what the world has given.
Copyright © Gwen Dixon | Year Posted 2011
|