a species.
gifted with a mind,
free thought,
and we basically,
threw it all away,
we are all looking,
for a way forward,
this is no free ride,
every turn an obstacle,
every step into a pothole,
express your thoughts,
but keep them to your self,
what you say are swords,
thrown aimlessly into the world,
people have lost their heads,
for helping out the poor,
we are degenerating into lab rats,
barbaric and insane,
humanity has no cure,
we all want to express,
our individuality,
but we buy the same clothes,
like sheep we follow the collie,
tattoos are all the same,
just another fad,
we all want the same pawn,
in the boring traditional board game,
we obey the rules and enrol,
into a different cult of ideas,
when we are alone we mock the saints,
dancing with the devil in our dreams,
in an elastic formed circle,
we all push out in different directions,
we have random ideas of freedom,
but we are all in the same box of outcome,
we will achieve nothing,
we will only be a pimple on destiny,
the screw is threaded,
it cannot be tightened,
it cannot be unscrewed,
but hot-headed and temperamental,
we turn the screw any way,
no matter what we believe in,
what is sure we all fade and die,
99.9% of us are forgotten,
our colourful tattoos maggot food,
all ideas of a brave new world,
are just hearsay in the dust,
when the casket closes in on you.
all your thoughts turn to rust,
but what makes us humans great,
is we head feet first into battle,
everyday is a war zone to cross,
and most of us are never prepared,
we are too busy dashing here and there,
not stopping to adjust our hair,
before we know it the month is through,
and the bills arrive in pairs,
all you dreams of coming together,
are put on pause somewhere,
not many of us fulfil all our dreams,
we the people fall in traps hidden ,
at the roadside in the desert of dreams,
temptation is not just a word from the bible,
it is basically a killer of free thought,
succumb to the daily grind,
work nine to five,
take the kids to school and clean the house,
just like everybody else,
with the money left over,
you treat yourself to a new pair of jeans,
you did not want this life,
it was more colourful in your dreams,
and at a certain age,
in an average life,
you realise that the clouds,
have covered over the way ahead,
you have noticed the screw is loose,
trapped endlessly in a deeper hole,
turning the screw,
is not for you,
once in a while,
you pause for thought,
thinking back to the day,
you wanted to be independent,
interrupted by the phone ringing,
and you are pulled back into reality,
the hours pass by quickly,
the thought strays from your mind,
just another microscopic pimple,
on this life’s behind.

©Darren Hobson February 2015