Wasteland

This is a monorhyme poem about the desolation of modern life.

My brain is bruised, and my heart is sore
Lying face-down on a hard dirt floor
Who could still be keeping score?

My brain is bruised, and my heart is sore
I can’t see what the future is for
There is nothing in this world to hope for

My brain is bruised, and my heart is sore
The future is bleak, and the past is war
What can be given to those who implore?

My brain is bruised, and my heart is sore
My vigor has been drained to the core
Except for fear, life’s a complete bore

My brain is bruised, and my heart is sore
Got no strength to fight, no wings to soar
Can’t fly away, can’t march with the corps

My brain is bruised, and my heart is sore
No one’s healthy here, just pain and gore
All the doctors and drugs can’t restore

My brain is bruised, and my heart is sore
“Healthy” people can’t hide anymore
Their idols have fallen to the floor

My brain is bruised, and my heart is sore
Hope is a savior on a distant shore
A gleam of light from a half-opened door

Our life is crushed but there is a spore
A life that seeks to find and explore
A new world in which no one keeps score

(written c. September 2015)

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