Realize the Despondence
Sorrowful melodies ricochet off the ears,
Of the tone-deaf slaves
Whose brittle bones and skins of dust,
Blend into the soil they sow
Gorgeous scenes never reach the eyes,
Of the colour-blind slaves,
Whose work shades their eyes
From the beauty of their world
Detritus that is art,
Screeches that are music,
Remain unrealized by the slaves
Subject to a life of labour,
Exploited into believing that they work voluntarily,
Returning home to a tedium of family and biased information,
The slave remains trapped in their cell
To change their lives, I would like
From an acceptance of monotony,
To a realization of despondence
To visit their hearts, I would like,
Realize their despondence,
And carry it with me
To open their eyes, I would like,
To the magnificence of a scene,
In all its spectacular glory
To change their despondence,
To an embrace of culture,
I would hope to accomplish
To let them see, in a world of death,
The beauty of their presence,
Their exquisite ability to influence,
The detritus into art,
The screeches into music
And the despondence into joy
-Poem Fanatic
