These everyday things,
But what are they exactly?
And why does an ode to mundane
Daily ritual dictate the
Small yet promising plot of life that
We are given to sow?
At what point do we acknowledge
The nine to five,
The eight to three,
The daily grind,
The demise of all that challenges
And further obliterates society’s four-cornered,
Premeditated sketch
Of existence?
Is it possible to have become so
Flush with constituents of orthodoxy
That we have been stripped of malleability
And intellectual vastness,
Left naked and embarrassed to exude
Any action other than conformity?
At what point do we deny
The audacious persistence
Of a continuous slaughter,
Execution,
And carnage of both
Earth and man?
We stand here,
With a pivot radius so
Squandered we cannot even
Flee our own minds,
And we dictate.
A dictation of both
Words and power,
Of both language and policy.
We emanate a superfluous
Air of superiority,
Our chests inflated.
Yet this Earth,
This world,
Does not belong to us.
We belong to it,
And as people we belong
To one another.
We have unimaginable
Potential,
Importance,
And influence,
But to which areas we allocate
Our meaningful impact
Is what is of significance.
At what point will things change?
If we do not redirect the flow
Of our modern dystopia,
Do we really want to be the
Ones who watch this story play out,
Who watch this story end?
Humanity is our story and
The landslide that we have been
Incessantly feeding will surely show
No mercy.
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