Not a Prophet, nor a Preacher






Day after day

I wake up to a world


To sell me it’s wares 

The world bears down,

We want to be free ,

Free to be enslaved

By pleasure 

It seems it is prudent

To be hellbent

On spending our lives –


This chase makes us weary

And thus we drown ourselves

Into a sensory overdose.

Thus,our senses overwhelmed,

And distracted ,

We run further

Until we can run no more. 

We must spend our lives,

Bringing the virtual

Into the physical

Latch ourselves by the skin ,

Onto marauding bulls

Of ambition.

And thus this game

Plays itself out

And we play along

Have a dream,

Or make one your own.

One thought on “Not a Prophet, nor a Preacher

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