Us, the privileged.

My first attempt at poetry. Poetry without research of forms. Poetry in motion.

Us, the privileged,
We have no reason to die
So we have no reason to live.
Our prescribed passions are
Personal facades
Dulling dryness daunts de-sensitivity;
darkness dumbing our domes.
How do we hope to harness humility? 
How can we elasticize that
Excellent ego, extending it eras
ahead so it snaps and floats eons away?
We often treat loved ones like a household vacuum.
Shamelessly shaking it
Using it to clean the dirt away from
Our lives
It may last weeks, years, decades
But when its broke
We chuck it.
And purchase a new one
Instead of caressing it for the time of its faithful service
Instead of spending a fraction of the reciprocated time to
Fix it
It never complained
It just sat in that designated dark, dusty place
It never complained.

Reviews

[Alisa Js]

Aloha,

This one has such a sad and defeated emotional tone to it.... I wonder how many feel this way towards life?

Without purpose and direction, I would think ... many.

Thanks for sharing.

Alisa

[Rob]

Wow, I really like your writing, I domt write in that particular style, but I love your content and the figurative language in your stories, again I really it!

[sherni]

Thank you kindly! It's actually the first time I wrote this way, usually I don't use a specific structure bu I thought I'd give it a try. I appreciate your comments!!