My Blank Irony

Torn from my red, beating drum,

I try to continue through life,

As I am working on becoming

Perfect

Days become months,

Years, decades,

They all disintegrate in front of me,

Into this massive blur of useless time.

How harsh the world has become

When the weak are forgotten,

The righteous and honorable,

Shunned and ruined.

Literature and arts biased in every way,

Monet, Degas, and alike burn through this century.

Gone from the bright yellows and the crystal green,

Replaced with blacks and brown that tarnishes our beauty.

Love lost through the centuries,

Only true blind can see through

The cold façade of the unspoken ones,

And see that they do become true, unlived beings.

How perfect society has become,

People do say.

Scorn their words and their fake appearances,

I call them bias and oppressed.

No difference is the dead and the living,

Blind and those who see,

Senses and invalid alike,

All blur through this useless, misinformed hole of chaos.

Try to make them see,

And they throw you out to the mass

Of the dirty and crippled,

Laugh and push you through the crowds.

Drowning in the world of black,

Running towards the light,

Never reaching the intelligence,

The warmth, the joy,

From the seclusion of the darkened hearts.