Stricken

Stuck inside my mind,

it's becoming hard to find,

a sense of pride,

from these accomplishments that subside,

they capsize,

I should rise,

but I cannot see beyond my eyes,

the future is hellishly great,

I must compensate,

life's shortcomings only make me irate,

forth comings have to wait,

this world sends signals to my brain,

all the lifeless bodies making it rain,

lips move but words are feigned,

they enter my ear and echo with pain,

the future has an inevitable dawn,

reminds me of a baby fawn,

only in a nightmare it is spawned,

with the devils soul as black as coal and torn,

into pieces of unflattering gasps,

how long will this social hierarchy last,

the answer? Not long, it's crushing fast,

not a single brain can hang this wind stricken mast,

political powers, watchful eyes,

so many in peril to save their pitiful lives,

economically right or more of a fright,

but you need to look at the philosophy of these unfortunate nights,

do we have to fight, when the subject is built to not be dandy,

but rather - to be filled with venomous candy

poisoning the child with thoughtless lies, as spies,

roam free and babies cry,

and why do I prevent the urge for you all to get high,

on the hope that is forever tied,

to the mastodon in the sea, a vicious circular ride,

falling gently in order to hide,

spiralling relentlessly to confide,

magnetic eruptions break loose and my eye bulges over the sty,

please answer me this carefully, your mind convinced that your right,

?