It’s a wide,wide world,
with its world-wide web,
and we are trafficking our lives,
with everything we have ever said,
and with each and every photo,
with every single footprint,
with another notch on this planet,
we all forget to think,
we are all screaming at one another,
trying to make peace with the day,
we are all trying to be someone,
no matter what you say,
our chromosomes are built to battle,
we try to beat everyone once,
we try to break records and goals,
and most of the time we think of ourselves,
we’re picking ideas like we pick our nose,
we wear out sayings like charity clothes,
we have too much to say and too little to do,
hurting now because everyone is laughing at you,
looking for identity,
searching for pride,
pissed off with the daily grind,
you don’t want to go outside,
you shop online so not to be seen,
and diet to keep food longer,
you live in a way that is obscene,
so what is really wrong with you,
there is a huge pyramid to map out our struggles,
there are very few humans at the top,
most of the human race is struggling at the bottom,
we just equal to one another just a faceless crop,
searching for an identity,
just beating around the bush,
we are all artists at heart,
we just need a little push,
the internet has given us a shortcut,
to getting our work world-wide,
but it is too easy to do that,
it is self-inflicted homicide,
whether you are good or bad or vile,
we are just faceless binary code,
each one saying the same things differently,
not everyone can catch a toad,
in my personnel futile search for something more,
I find myself always back down on the floor,
when personal pride has taken a stabbing,
from a paranoid yet imaginative mind,
my muse keeps me from exploding,
the web is a mountain of frustration,
everyone trying to better their best friend,
everyone is deleted in the morning,
so we all look for a new identity,
in a shop full of old ideas,
nothing new is coming though the mind processor,
we are pulling out teeth with pliers,
and we try to run and hide,
from life on the wild internet side,
but we cannot hide too long,
because someone else might steal your song,
so it is on with the show,
why we carry on nobody knows,
we just keep trying with some possibilities,
maybe one day we will get a lucky break,
but until then we digest our mistakes,
an umbrella torn under the shower of bullshit,
looking for some kind of identity,
trying to keep away from jealousy,
somebody has forgotten my identity,
fading away into someones memory,
as I succumb to middle age,
and the worlds they tumble off the page,
and verse becomes perverse with rage,
the whole war worlds with pens engaged,
in combat of the digital kind,
everyone is going out of their mind,
funny things and burnt down trees,
being an artist is an addictive way,
trying to poach an identity,
in every kind of way.
©Darren Hobson Sept 2014