Poem: The Madness of the Rush
The masses clog the highway
like snails in a hurry,
leaving trails of slime and
cigarette butts.
Who are these people?
Where do they have to be
What can I say?
They were raised in public schools,
their minds filled with
and applauded for it
in their robes of black.
Moving in fast forward
through a prestigious
University.
Dumbed down to the
lowest level
to gain money from
the government!
Bastards in the guise
of Kings!
At least I planned for rush hour.
I don't have to be
anywhere
for two hours.
I sit back and relax,
blasting Leonard Cohen
and smiling at the
demonic faces
of the leeches of society,
writhing in their madness.
The masses clog the highway,
like snails in a hurry,
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Who are these people?
Where do they have to be
according to the clock?
plus I like space poems :)
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where do they have to be
according to the clock
i ask
why do you have to write
according to that thought?
every one's going somewhere, every one is late
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If that doesn't make sense, then I guess we see life through different lenses and that is okay. ;)
~Mab
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