Err Believed Orthodox

We are mysterious beings.

We are an aberration,

an aberration it's called,

mistaken it for the norm,

the err believed orthodox,

changing headlines for changes,

confusion on the left hand,

astray from equipoise,

neither what we want nor we need,

certainty is far and away.

An epoch to come,

I could loathe poetry,

filled with revolution,

journalism could be my comrade,

again and again on a loop,

as I fight for certainty.

Attacking the structure,

attacking it without cessation,

changing headlines incessantly,

merely like a dabbler,

flinching like a;

like a leaf on a windswept.

Rather than kicking out the bottom;

We pursue superficial solutions.

Pitiful; Err believed orthodox.

Author's Note

Please let me know what you think about this art.

Reviews

[Arundass TP]

Nicely written poem. Enjoyed reading