Old Before Alive
Would you rid me of my senses,
To see the silver in this jar turn to gold?
How hollow we would empty it's dictated contents,
Lacking in sensations to be acted upon,
Allowing the mound to amass around us,
Till when old; We are proud to have hoarded a pension,
From then do we enjoy life?
Pristine and framed by platinum?
Not truly preserving ourselves just our gains,
Which we seem to care so little for,
Embroidered in silver linings.
Is the world in this screen really better?
Full of aspirations to replace the dreams
Or just to numb that loss of feeling?
It hurts to think of myself as human, as if I don't believe it anymore.
Bored; such an unnatural state for our kind,
Thriving on restricted feelings.
Told to be happy with what I have,
Then shown the next thing which I apparently need.
Have greed and self preservation became a reason to live?
I only hope when I am in pain now,
For I cannot afford my freedom, and when I can, I'll no longer care for it, I hope.