Better

Dressed up in words so bright and pretty

Like a festival parade

Without a marching beat

And as they walk they give no thought

To the feelings underfoot.

 

To the pseudo-intellectuals

The blind, the broken men in sewers

Wading through a world of filth

With bitter tongues

From all the foul words in their mouths.

And they are better,

To walk the one true path

To know and yet,

Unknowing, they condemn

Themselves to just one window

Staring out at a world

But not the world

 

To the fakes,

The unbelievers

The practitioners of art

So perfect their conception

Craftmanship beyond mere mortal hands

The one eyed man, his kingdom blind

Only half a story sees

And the people on his blind side

They are free.

The End

94 comments about this poem Feed