literature

Cultivated Society

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Literature Text

In this world where the meek are disapproved,
When all of this Mankind are sorrowed,
Wrapped in opinions strapped down to the core,
Swaying and changing in the breeze of society;
Some warped,
And yet only to the opinion of others,
For yes this is a place, a country, a universe, created of all opinions.
Dreams that die and screams resounding soundlessly,
Burning bridges of love and harmony,
Brightly shining hope dieing for nothing,
All that we have lost and regained,
Forever more shalt be buried into the sand of memories.
Trust and faith, belief and emotional suicides,
Harbingers of joy and fatigue,
All that is wont and forever destroyed;
Casualty in the face of utter unredeemable defeats,
Triumph in the glory of others' dank mental prisons,
Calls between past and present Romeos and their Juliets,
Black ribbons tied to pure white corsages,
Configurations of condemned plots,
Drawing ever nearer to the overly simple concept,
A plan of world domination, just hanging in the ethereal balance of life,
Demurring to the natural instincts of plain justice falling apart to desire and greed,
Exchanging knowledge for the much needed power above all.
Within the absence of truth there can only be lies,
And within the absence of chivalry only destruction may come,
Bearing down upon us like the towering tiers of broad leadership
Fueled by mere anger at the fine tumult created by those in our places of politics.
Yet who are we to judge,
The meek falling to the world's new order,
Where power easily makes right?
Who are we to refuse,
When money clouds even the decisive faces of the Righteous,
The Holy and the Protectors of Justice?
When thoughts of darkness comfort the minds of those in our beloved race?
Forsaken are the days when Man thought to be merely kind to all strangers,
Not mislaiden and weaving the spiders' nest of deception themselves,
Returned are the primal days,
Covered with the mist of illusion calling itself civility,
New to the centuries used of helping even the farthest stranger come close.
People rise and fall;
Claim to be heroes or villains when usually it is the opposite,
Yet when they fall back and die,
Eternally resting until Judgement Day,
Our beautifully built culture falls back upon itself to wishes of havoc,
Crying when the ball drops and they recieve the same,
For when all is said and done....
....Even the most innocent child may be a monster at heart.
....Mrrr...enjoy!....I hope you like this poem I made....Please comment....this is my first submission and I'm very nervous about what people think of it....mrrr....I hope I did this right....
© 2007 - 2024 GoldRain
Comments16
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dogmadic's avatar
Nicely written I really love the last line. It's kind of a scary thought but true.