STEVE H.W.
  • STEVE H.W.
  • About
  • CV
  • CE

An Islander

5/6/2020

 

​
I stand in exile


Some nowhere island hoarding plenty people


It rains a lot and still they work


No obvious ambition


And everybody


Is so eager to relax.


They just drink, dance, smoke and laugh


But meek enough to bow down to the money machine


They appear god-ish but


Nobody seeks


Study, work, fuck, marry, raise kids


Without much survival pressure


Never in my life did I dream of here


Yet here I am entrapped and footloose


See they emphasis a different type of life


Resemblance of soul but truly living as ants


Yesterday I asked a cab driver


“In an ideal world, what would you do?”


“A mechanic, yeah? Fix cars, more money.”


“But if you can be


The king of France


A Fighter pilot


CEO of all corporations


Pope of the catholic church


would you still be a car mechanic?”


“Oh, then no, yeah?”


“What would you be then?”


There was only silence


And I mourned for another wasted soul


“Make you think, yeah?” he says


Precisely, since you flushed it


Right down the toilet.




Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Comments are closed.
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.