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Passive
In a land not too far away,
Where the fields are gray
They harvest their wheat
That withers every day
They don't breathe more than once
They don't blink more than twice,
Inorder to fulfil their wildest dreams
That never escape the realm of night
No one needs to bother,
Where sons bury fathers
Wish it was different,
But we all forgot its our creation
Wish we could go on further,
But these cuffs lack a maker
We'd like to name
I still have a chance, I think
Why does it has to be
That when we look forward we see nothing,
But what was and ourselves
Are nowhere to be seen?
Ah...really like this one
Ah...really like this one too... it reminds me of ' living in the moment'....aware, alert, enlightened to life on life's terms and the temptation to want so much more.. people can never be satisfied with what is? Is it a human frailty? If so, we appear a weak species?
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Not only are we never
Not only are we never satisfied, we won't do anything to help ourselves and promote ourselves. Why bother when we can slowly decay by doing nothing?