Searching for what it means to be human,
We miss out on noticing we're aliens
who arrive through a portal
and people claim us as theirs,
raising us to become human.
Who we are as children has no semblance
to the monsters we become.
Creative spirits are hushed in the process of focus,
a metric of society forced upon us.
Dreamers are improper fuel to make the machine run,
so dreams are hushed,
occipital grays before age plagues.
Those who fail to align
are shunned or medicated
A few creatives make it.
No wonder our soil is tainted.
We've steered quite far from our etymology,
meaning "of earth, humus, humble"
the beings who defined us then saw connection,
they didn't derive the next contraption to hack
the beauty of our inception into this dimension.
Sure plan on leaving here empty handed,
back to etymology.
Let me rot
with the only mother I know
Earth
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Author:
Young Bug (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 7th, 2023 16:58
- Comment from author about the poem: On average, I write several thousand words a day. The vomit of my brain is sometimes sad, sweet, sometimes mad, defeated, sometimes light, dark, rainbow-oriented. There's no way of being that gets me feeling free, but holy cow does the sunshine bless me. Often, my aim is just shooting to the roots, whether to cut 'em or feed 'em with the good good. Here's an attempt at making sense of the madness of being human. At the moment, I'm pissed. Ripping on a keyboard, bout to press send. My, do I wish I could see you and grip your hand. That would be way grander than this, but the poet is an island in the ocean of the eternal, and it's harder to locate these days. So, to an extent, I can say thanks for spaces such as this.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments3
i wake up everyday with a burden on my chest concluded of that poem of yours, immaculate presentation of our daily dread. but we do move and carry on eventually for a better tmrw i guess
Totally! I'm just using the day as a wastebasket. Tomorrow, maybe I'll find recycling. Maybe the next day compost. Just moving along, chasing the song, with the hope of a sweet melody to grace me and build my soil up.
Ok it’s a crazy train ride this one but I’m happy to book a ticket and travel with you on this one.
Maybe we are the Aliens?
M
Love your commentary! We totally be some of the aliens. We're riding together on the waves of quantum consciousness.
................... write on
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