Untitled No. 1

The world is darkened with wonder.
We help others, and our children hunger.
The strive is the self-inflicted pain
It seems nothing else can go wrong, not even the rain.
Among the ruins, hope dares to stand.
Among us strangers, there is not a friend.
Tears fall from dreary dry eyes.
Blood streaks the Bill of Rights.
Truth is nothing more than a lie.
Death is our escape but, we are afraid to die.
We open our eyes, not wishing to see the light of day.
We see reality as fiction, like it was dreamt up that way.
Happiness only came with the fallen snow.
People use to smile, at its pure glow.
But, corruption overwhelmed our destined fate.
We remembered that life is what we create.
So, we seemingly march in our continuous charade.
Seeing the world as a game, our downfall the last move we made.
We go back to our fake, plastered emotions.
We go back to doing exactly what they told us.
Back to our boxes filled with strangers in a so called home.
Back to that place where love is gone.
We blame them at the table.
They are the reason we are not able.
It’s their fault that money is short.
It’s their fault a child has to go to court.
They are the reason the sun forgets to shine.
They are the reason all of us are blind.
Like the hermit that emerged,
The sun hit us with the worst.
We found they, the dominant race do not exist.
We found the chance to blame we didn’t miss.
A tear glistened and the culprit we tried to chase.
But, somehow we ended up jailed in the mirror, looking at our own face.

© copyright Heather Champion, December 2009