Cadavers of the Hive
Date: Friday, 5th August 2011 @ 07:30:35 PM AEST Topic: Sad Poetry
Contributed By: zeberdee
The blood of the west is passing through me
So I can taste the food better and get that sweet material scent
Everything else smells rotten,I guess there must be something I cant see
I can be bothered to look, or question, I have to pay my rent
Sometimes I Wish I had a piece of autonomous power just for me
Wish I could apply critical thought to the things around me, but I digress
For the food and comfort makes me quickly forget, makes me acquiesce
I am just a blue-eyed ant-worker in the hive of the deciders
With their shackles around my ankles I stand in a crowd of cadavers
We walk with our heads bend to avoid the light while we slump
We talk with our feet to avoid question while they lie
Sometimes they tell us to jump
And we ask: 'how high?'
This poem is Copyright © zeberdee
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