A circle in a room of squares
Adrift of anyone who cares
Reversing down the spiral stairs
You're not the only one
The echo of a thousand screams
A product of the east end schemes
When nightmares cease to be in dreams
You're not in this for fun
Guilt lathers an illegal froth
The judges don their wigs to scoff
This type of crazy won't wash off
It settles like the sun
A hand grenade dislodged it's pin
All hope becoming membrane thin
They play back every so called sin
You ever thought or done
Stretched out naked upon a rack
No chance of ever turning back
Though standing tall you feel the crack
That says your race is run
Offline)
Comments2
A type of dystopia emerges in this poem that seems 1984 or Brave New World. Well done
The first stanza really pulled me in. Brilliantly written with excellent rhyme as always peto.
- Syd 🍄
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.