The insect

A Poem by Waldoizhere

How I think many youngsters feel nowadays about their percieved lack of importance.

The Insect

I scurry across the ground.
My legs glistening,
My ears perk to the mound,
But I am not one for listening.

I see the Queen,
My eyes fill with hate,
She has a purpose I never will,
Menial labor is my fate.

The machine needs a cog,
The ladder needs a lowest rung,
Some are born to rule as dogs,
Others? Dung.

My body shudders
as I breathe a sheet,
Of stale air into my lung.

An insect. Trapped.
In a maze of the young.