Three

O tangled mess of hopes and fears abound
Inside these cardboard walls we all are trapped
And here, with blinded sight and deaf from sound
Within pathetic pantomimes en-wrapped
We wile away the tepid, sordid hours
Oases of ideal we try to find
But here, anon, we’re sucked of sacred powers
And left to drift, an empty, useless rind
Yet we stand for much greater means than these
Our fate is not to float away on air
O tangled mess – my people! – hear my pleasStand tall and show the world you’re worth their care
And maybe in the end we all may prove
Even us hopeless humans can improve

Published by bernardsbarnes

Writer. Artist. Performer. A little boy dreaming of the stars.

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