Author: WordNerd100

Dawn's rays do abhor the bitter taste of morn
The moon omnipresent, watching over a night clad world, forlorn
A world in which the clouds do weep, forced to watch the sights beneath
As onlookers turn their eyes to the vast, captured heath
Caught in a state of supposèd perfection
Talked of without any inflection
They say 'no prejudice'; they say 'democracy'
Yet is this what people ask for? Is this not slavocracy?
Working to work and working till death, entranced by theocracy.
Do we not turn our backs on those that need us?
Crying, sent home in trepidation
Of death, violence and tragedy
In the age of the individual, what separates us from amalgamation?
Driving towards a common goal
One over which we have no control.