#22 Poetry On Us

Lonely within my room, I hear the sound.

It was the sound of consciousness’ pound.

Opening the door, I see a bright hope.

As if I finally realized, I don’t have to go down this slope.

It dawned on me, we’re not living the truth.

We’re seeing the world from below, instead from high atop the roof.

Shallow, shady, suffering, we go nowhere.

But times have changed, you’re finally free to thread somewhere.

World, world, why did you turn out this way?

Is it because you’ve fallen into the human mind’s sway?

Funny thing is, we own the mind.

Why did we delude ourselves within its manipulation, as if it’s fine?

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