Empty Windows of the Gutted Shell

Inscribed in the wrappings of used brains
A word of a dead language
an unnerving and yet true statement:
There must be more who can grip the ritual's pattern

A ritual of detestation and expansion
But no detest for expansion itself
What is deplored are the threats to your advancement
Your dusted mirror of internal recognition

It must be wiped and polished
through a potent ignorance
Against the purposeless, circuited citizens
and their overseers

If there is no initiative to abandon
conscious conformity to the artificial
You will end your life meaninglessly
removing your brain and tossing it into an inaccessible dump-yard

Reviews

[Ian Gilmour]

What's interesting about this, is that the poem content is threatening, but the tone is a blend of sadness and anger. You also sprinkle the poem with great word choices that keep it both refreshing and enlightening. The biggest thing I took away from this as that the mere idea that we can enhance our minds or throw them away is just that: an idea that we can choose to follow. This is a poem I will consider even after I have read it.

[Zack Valenta]

Thank you so much! You got it right exactly! I appreciate your input vastly!

[Matching Socks]

:) boy... You really do like the dark stuff. But it's very thought provoking.
I could interpret in different ways but I pick up on some frustration with the mindless drones that carry an empty space in their minds rather than filling it with ideas, knowledge, useful things.

Use it or lose it! (Your brain)

[Zack Valenta]

I believe you are spot on! :)

[Matching Socks]

Ha! Look at me! I'm 2-4-2.
Where's my prize darlin'?

[Matching Socks]

Read one of mine?

[Matching Socks]

Or more....

[Zack Valenta]

How about a positive review? Not that it wouldn't be a positive one otherwise! Aha!

[Matching Socks]

:) if don't have anything nice to say...
Keep your damn mouth shut.

[Zack Valenta]

I like that :) I always find rapid shifts in tone humorous