Poem: The Madness of the Rush

[mab]

 

      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
              according to the clock?

What can I say?


          They were raised in public schools,
            their minds filled with
              mediocrity
            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,
              leaving trails of slime and
                cigarette butts in their wake.
         

Comments

[mab.livejournal.com]

Exactly... everyone is going somewhere, everyone is late. We are so molded to the passage of time as marked by the clock that we lose ourselves and become spitfire demons lashing out at each other on the road to wherever it is that we're going, in an attempt at saving time.

If that doesn't make sense, then I guess we see life through different lenses and that is okay. ;)

~Mab