02-07-2017, 09:14 PM
Hello, I'm rather new to poetry, and I'd like some feedback on this piece, thanks in advance.
Reality
Aren’t we all confined within our own cages,
Forced to wander through the ages.
Strolling ever so serenely,
Through all the grass and crafted scenery?
Through the halls of time
We tumble and stumble, and yet not a single grumble,
Is heard within the chime
Of this ever-familiar rhyme we mumble.
I’m sick of this constant flow
No highs, no lows, just a simple Joe.
This familiar tune we play,
Each and every single day.
Never ending. Serenading.
The same old streets we stroll through each day,
Same greetings, same faces, same goddamned Mondays.
I’m sick of being alive
If being alive is what this is
Where is the drive? The strive?
Being alive?
Yet perhaps it’s better this way,
Don’t rekindle this snuffed out flame.
Let someone else be the armored knight,
Riding into glory within the light.
Us commoners, what good do we know?
We’re just castaways, relics from an old yesterday.
Those hopes, visions, and dreams we once followed?
Ha! Who would have believed all that mumbo jumbo?
Maybe we’re all just miserable cargo
Doomed to ride this train indefinitely,
For all damned eternity.
Leave us be,
To wallow in our own sorrow
And hope not, for a better tomorrow.
And when morning comes, I’ll be back in my cage,
No fire, no light a rather pitiful sight.
You’ll hear the sound of dirty tears falling,
Flowing through these halls,
Echoing.
Reality
Aren’t we all confined within our own cages,
Forced to wander through the ages.
Strolling ever so serenely,
Through all the grass and crafted scenery?
Through the halls of time
We tumble and stumble, and yet not a single grumble,
Is heard within the chime
Of this ever-familiar rhyme we mumble.
I’m sick of this constant flow
No highs, no lows, just a simple Joe.
This familiar tune we play,
Each and every single day.
Never ending. Serenading.
The same old streets we stroll through each day,
Same greetings, same faces, same goddamned Mondays.
I’m sick of being alive
If being alive is what this is
Where is the drive? The strive?
Being alive?
Yet perhaps it’s better this way,
Don’t rekindle this snuffed out flame.
Let someone else be the armored knight,
Riding into glory within the light.
Us commoners, what good do we know?
We’re just castaways, relics from an old yesterday.
Those hopes, visions, and dreams we once followed?
Ha! Who would have believed all that mumbo jumbo?
Maybe we’re all just miserable cargo
Doomed to ride this train indefinitely,
For all damned eternity.
Leave us be,
To wallow in our own sorrow
And hope not, for a better tomorrow.
And when morning comes, I’ll be back in my cage,
No fire, no light a rather pitiful sight.
You’ll hear the sound of dirty tears falling,
Flowing through these halls,
Echoing.