In a world of oppression I stand,
I‘m trapped, alone and empty.
The world’s view is cynical,
filled with “You must do this”
or “You must do that.”
My opinion is strong;
it’s open and willing
to the thought of something new
and anything different.
But my words ring hollow,
unheard by the masses
who refuse to acknowledge
that concept isn’t always reality.
Distraught, detested, deprived
is this world of conceited ways;
Including myself, apparently.
I must be in the wrong,
for what I believe destines me to hell
with other scumbags and beggars
who fight to believe something different,
Who strive for change and hope
and faith of a different kind.
I see myself in the bottom of a pond,
protected by men overseas
and a cloud in the sky.
I’m burdened by cement in my watery grave,
dragged to the bottom and suffocated
by the loose protest and congregation
of a world ruled by lies.
A political poem I wrote for my creative writing class.