Saturday, 22 November 2014

Pollution of ideas

Random poem about the pollution of our so called ideas



I'm chained, and torn, and broken.

I'm cut, and drawn and quartered.

I'm in agony,

Begging and pleading,

Screams to go on leading.

A destruction, at mass,

Holds the ball from falling.

Inside of me,

I knead

But it's greed -y

It won't leave me, I shout

But I can't get out,

Myself is at war.

The battle of my ideas

Fighting for more

Which one stands?

Did I backhand, the

One that fed me,

And led me

To my destruction

It was my idea, that was my downfall

To plead inside,

To scratch the wall

Built so high

Far and wide 

I cannot run

For my ideas have just begun.

Though I stand still,

I cannot hear it's run. 

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