Look at the floor people of the world

Look at your feet
when you pass each other on the street.
Esoteric, hidden, and both,
plugging your lips on your parallell trips.
Through the undergrowth
under the city
The tubes and stuffy queues
too worn to show no pity
somehow

Communication in fear

consolidation in silence.
Silence in confidence, or violence.
Noisy books lie next to silent crooks.
The rat race crushing the rats who rattle
under the city
Through the drains and metal caves where
the trains have no pity
somehow

Information with injected desires

on the wall,
In the carriage
Making us ill, and moving and both.
Go away.

I want to go back.

Blind man lead me.
or
Chase me through the streets and
scream.
Shout at the colours that you've never seen.
Shout at the world that for you ends with me.

I insist that you shout at me.

Your long white stick doesn't look so great
now I've made you correlate
with life.
and with the mess you've made
the list of brothers you can't save
because you wont.

Torn between the face in the mirror and the left hand
burning from the desire to remain
unnoticed,
Unseen and therefore clean
A sin never whitnessed may as well be a dream

For if you look ahead you will always be lead.
and
If you close your eyes you will always be dead.
Blind.
I am tired of being chased
by
you.

[edit on 23/1/2006 by earthtone]

Can I add my poetry?

Here's one about death, in Dr. Seuss type rhyme:

Don't pump me full of chemicals
and bury me in the ground.
Just toast me 'til I'm ashes
and spread me all around

Don't need a final resting place
for folks to come and mourn
I'd rather fertilize the Earth;
a part of me reborn

Into a flower or a tree,
or maybe just some grass.

Eternity inside a box?
I think I'll take a pass.

This one popped into my head full blown, and wouldn't let me sleep until I'd written it down:

We should all be a little bit
More like Elvis
Shaking our pelvis
To our own rhythm
As we dance and sing
Our way through life

And then when we're old
And mostly forgotten
We can die on the toilet
So when our mortal coil releases
in that final purge of waste
All you'd have to do is flush

Which gives you a pretty good idea of what kind of person I am. Laughing at life, laughing at death...

Originally posted by earthtone

Look at the floor people of the world

Look at your feet
when you pass each other on the street.
Esoteric, hidden, and both,
plugging your lips on your parallell trips.
Through the undergrowth
under the city
The tubes and stuffy queues
too worn to show no pity
somehow

When i read the above it reminds me of the sadness i feel sometimes the depressed atmosphere in your words is similar to myself when i open my eyes every now and then to the world.

Communication in fear (Ufo cover up, oppression against people in this world who want to think for themselves, this sentence is so true.)

consolidation in silence.
Silence in confidence, or violence.
Noisy books lie next to silent crooks.
The rat race crushing the rats who rattle
under the city
Through the drains and metal caves where
the trains have no pity
somehow

The above paragraph reminds me of governments, the peoples 'consolidation in silence.' And the people 'silence in confidence, or violence' are the truth holders who have to live with this threat (top level security clearances). Noisy books strikes me as rebellion brewing away all the time but nothing happens because the rat race (govts) crushing the rebellions.

Information with injected desires (Which brings me on to this sentence, the rat race using dis info and trickery to remain powerful.)

on the wall,
In the carriage
Making us ill, and moving and both.
Go away.

This universe is hard to explain.

I want to go back.

And who says it was ever any better or did you mean to a time when you knew no better.

I've annotated above what it means to me, an inspirational piece of writing. Does it hold any of the same meaning to you?

[edit on 22-9-2006 by Argos]