Worthless

Blindfolds of lies wrapped horrifically around your mind,
to trap you in a prison in a sadistic, inevitable bind.
Beliefs and hopes intertwined with narcissistic desires,
manipulated by agonizing strings and conforming wires.
Forced to live and endure a torturous life,
a consuming corruption an endless strife.
Knowledge will kill you once you know who you are,
a clone of suffering, plummeting so far.
You drown into the black abyss of humanity,
a reflection of selfish grief and vanity.
We live to create life, we live to die,
life is a relentless cycle concealed by a lie.
They say we are special, this is not true,
you are terrifyingly worthless, there are billions of you.
Remove the idealistic veil distorting your blinded eyes,
then witness the horror as your aspiration dies.
You are just a printed number and a common name,
another lost soul, playing life's cruel game.
We are mere animals and once are duty is fulfilled,
we are politely ushered away and violently killed.
We exist day after day, season after season,
avoiding the questions, with no established reason.
We stumble in the dark as an abominable creation,
life and dishonestly is a conceivable relation.

 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I love your skill in writing. You write with a mature pen. I like the many strong statements in this poem.
"They say we are special, this is not true,
you are terrifyingly worthless, there are billions of you."
The poem had purpose and tell a real story. I like the strong ending to the outstanding poem.
Coyote

[laughinglullaby]

This poem is very intriguing. I love the structure of it. Very well written.
" You drown into the black abyss of humanity,
a reflection of selfish grief and vanity"
I love this line. Keep up the good work.

[M.E.Lyle]

Wow, I thought I was slightly under the weather before, but now I'm totally down. I really like your rhyming scheme, but I'm a bit confused. Are you writing about the human condition or about cattle. I'm teasing of course, but the two could be intertwined, don't you think? Well, I enjoyed it. Now I'll have to go listen to some happy music to get over it, after all, I'm just a number scribbled on some obscure piece of paper. Poor, poor pitiful me.

[Casey]

this poem shows the ugly truth of what everyday life really is. the truth is not always pretty.