A poem I've been working on for a little while now, I rediscovered it's hand written, patched together, original in one of my note books and decided that I must finish it.
What will you do when your well runs dry?
On that day do you plan to just sit there and cry?
Will you realise at last what those songs and poems did shout?
Finally learn what those profits and artists were about?
Will you learn what it is to be small?
As the price of living causes you to crawl?
Ignore teachers still, sacrifice them to your media gods?
Warm yourself in the glow, accepting your sentence with nods?
Will your gold gilded cages keep you warm at night?
Still distract you from worries you never try to fight?
Did you believe and believe still the lies?
Hypnotising as they were, as they flashed before your eyes?
Or do you see as I see that all is not right?
Do you wonder each day why you put up a fight?
Finding each coin so cold, like ice in your hand?
As they slip though your fingers like glittering sand?
I ask no I beg, what are you waiting for?
At what point will you realise that there must be more?
When you look at this beautiful world and see,
That only when you raise your voice you will ever be free.
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