PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

life questioning the borders erected around me. 
The chains of conformity rusted with the blood 

of the soul. Neighbourhood reflects the emptiness 
of the heart. Fences define property and keep out 

the unwanted. A dog is barking somewhere behind 
the house, its high pitched voice drowning out the 

solitude of being normal. There is an intensity in 
the animal that it out of place in the manicured 

lawns and much painted walls. Glistening skin 
that is permeated with the refuse of a million 

different commercials pushing forged versions of 
acceptance upon an unthinking world. I scratch 

my back wondering which cream will make me 
look younger again. I no longer hear the dog so 

I assume it has either been silenced or is dead. 
Yet, maybe it is I who have died as I drink a 

cup of liquid some commercial insisted I must 
love. It's good to the last drop, or so I am 

assured. I fear not drinking it all for if I do not 
do so perhaps I will not gain a prize. And of 

course one can buy a piece of paper littered 
with random numbers at any corner store. If 

these numbers are picked you can move up 
the ladder of life just a notch or so. But in 

truth I wonder if the ladder is firmly rooted 
in the ground. We live inside our cities, with 

our magnificent accomplishments all around us. 
Yet it seems odd to me that anyone can stop 

the whirling of the streets with just one cautiously 
purchased gun. When did I forget about the 

sounds of freedom I used to listen to with such 
excitement? At some point I put aside the marching 

feet of progress and settled safely inside the 
drone of survival. Lost for years inclined towards 

messages that were sent but not opened. Freedom 
of heart begins with a breath and yet to take this 

breath one must unshackle the chains of suppression 
that have been placed like ice around the ambition 

of sanity. Would I ever understand the point of view 
held so carefully by the members of the lower crust? 

Bored, I pick up a newspaper. I am reading stories 
of other boring people locked into their own sources 

of disdain. And somewhere I hear the silence broken 
by a television. I pick out the sounds of a popular 

diversion and realize that this is how we have been 
lost. Who has time to grow in mind when so many 

false images are available to be defined? Where am 
I going? I won't know until the corporate bonds of 

the media sets a path for me. Like everyone else 
I will rush to buy the latest toy and in this way shall 

hope that I will fit in. Fitting in is important, much 
more important than being me. I stop my thinking, 

for it has become counter-revolutionary. I close 
my eyes and look inside. I see only black clouds. 

Relief. This means I am normal. I can now progress 
to the next level of reality, empty perhaps, but at 

least assured of my place in the scheme of things. 
Like the dog, I am allied with the chains of conformity 

that have been carefully placed around the mind. 
I recognize now, with some amount of inner horror, 

that all the chains I blamed on society are actually 
chains I created for myself. I could break them 

and declare independence, but I fear I will not 
do so. If I did, I'd be alone and not normal and