When it seems like all is lost – a poem about the frustration most of us feel about this planet and society, at times and advising the youth to keep questioning…EVERYTHING!

Where do I begin with this

To express myself in a series of words,
thrown into a mixer and delivered in something to be heard.
A beat that emanates from somewhere deep,
representing my angst from head to worn out feet.
But I feel mute, and deafened and suffocated and sick,
At the lack of compassion and the cut to the quick.

What happened to us all,
the day the world turned efficient and less elastic,
with our endless recycling our carefully sourced plastic.
Have they got us so distracted by the degrading plight,
of oceans and seas and far off lands with no bin in sight,
Whilst our homeless by day are never in our sight,

We know they are tortured and losing their fight!

Expeliamous to old scenery to fit the bastards plenary,
as we sit glued to glass and bright lights,
Switch off rainbows and bury their plights.
The increase in distractions at every we turn,
Where the pure of our youth compete and then burn.

Our history is littered with nostalgic wonders,
Yet we focus on errors of plagiarized blunders.
Sweet perception is warped by a tangy distraction,
I sit pencil in hand and know but just a fraction,
Yet I do see our concentrated plant pot of energy,
being diluted and replaced with acrid bile lethargy.

Mental dumbing, cranial numbing,
our continual consciousness lazily thumbing,
through pages of someone else’s life on social media,
and then we replicate parts that feeds us all that greedier.
A lost belief that we can’t be great and unique,
and special and normal, fat, thin, small and tall.
Can we not think of happiness, beyond the small wifi box at the end of the hall.

I lie there at night just before I sleep,
a quick 15 minutes of a digital creep,
not searching for people or a long lost friend,
but an inspiration quote and image to send.

Send to someone out there who’s a lot like me,
striving for quiet hearts and safety for the bees!
Yes… the bees…ahhh the bees, now we truly love bees,
With all that is linked to life and of honey,
But those backbencher wasps just see swarms of pure gold money.

And they’ve been with us all for a millennia or two,
So it’s not a surprise that they do what they do,
But these lessons not new, just distract us from war,
As our nectarless voices fall mute on the floor.

Are there people out there who can’t see the link,
Of all the connections that rattle and chink,
From bees to the trees to plastic in seas,
As the oil in these ships brings bees to their knees?

The people with no schools happy in their huts,
respect spaces more than us, and they don’t ask for a cut.
No hang-ups or afflictions that bite them in the night,
or trauma based addictions that loses every fight.

And the base of our problems, in this modern of all worlds,
where equality is still void in today’s boys and girls,
As they navigate their emotions not through parental calm and empathy,
But parented by social media, entitlement, debauchery.

What chance do we have when we want to say, “it’s right to be confused,
and it’s ok to look at yourself, be overwhelmed and well… bemused.
And this functioning adult before you, with skills, attributes and flaws,
has a path that lay behind me strewed with fails and battered doors”,

Was confused like you too, but I just kept swimming,
and never accepted breathing as a single sign of winning.
When perplexed and wronged and hit off course by adult misdirection,
No consumption of apps and sites that would hide my imperfections.

And who wrote this new book where labels categorised the drama,
You can see them stitching stars these days on stripy grey pyjamas!
And if you don’t think for one minute that we are almost at those gates,
with a rail line, steam and fog and the birthplace of all hate,

Can we please wake up from our coma,

safe from alacrity, more stench than aroma.
Horrors and our nerves desensitised,
the intravenous distant apathy, sterilised.

i’m standing here with nerves like snakes in my belly,
tired with most that vomits from my telly,
I’m wanting just to shout ‘what of them over there,
What have you done with their walk, their hope and their cares?

I can see them, and their shell it burns my eyes,
as it forms everlasting patterns which I cannot disguise,
How shocked I am that I walk past them every single day,
and do nothing to lift a finger and simply say,

“How can I help, what’s your story and where did it go so wrong.
there’s some positive stuff on Facebook that thin but makes you feel so strong!?”
I mean is that all it takes to drink a quote and make a change,
like it was always just so simple to find life in rhyme and prose,

these evangelical vultures pedal phrases for two goals,
Their cult wrestles with your money and strips gilt from all our souls.

it’s all fluffed up in a package so neat, with frills, no depth no mess,
with quotes, tunes and pictures of a windswept lady in a dress.

This wonderful world of opinions and a million subjective clauses,
Where I am keen to cause offence now, as my neighbour just withdraws his.
As he can’t think for himself, dress, walk talk or be himself,
this passed down point of poisoned worship, it disinfects with a solitary hit.

Who will take to the streets and be free like gypsies,
Take us all back to the militant and free-er sixties.
As we listen to Dylan, consuming words and chords and rhyme,
So film yourself, your militant thoughts, go viral with your vines.

A bacterial snippet of what we all think,
We are buried beneath the bodies left by media greed and stink.
And it’s you my gorgeous daughter and it’s you my lovely son,
my gift to you is fireworks, and don’t accept they’ve won.

Because as happy as I seem, in my suit and ageing dreams,
when not with you my happiness is coffee with sides of cream.
when away from all your quirks, your crafted wit and charm,
I’m alone but filled with hope that your strength will cause good harm.

It consumes me, the unfiltered, that presses on your brain.
But assured that all I placed there dilutes the acid in the rain,
Which leaves you with the truth and all that really matters,
As i focus on your pallet as your colour makes them scatter.

Protect all that is authentic,
be labeled as eccentric.
And the disease that they all fear,
Is your infectious hope when near.

it will make you see solutions, with problems on the fire,
you will fight them on the beaches,
They will say that you’re a liar.
but simplify their greed and question roots of wealth,
Stay strong my young Horatio your power it lies in stealth.

Your numbers they will multiply , a million score and more,
Go use their tools against them, with insta tweets and more.
So fight against their loans and their mortgage laden debt,
As every penny that you give them sinks you deeper in their net,

the more they convince you, to get yourself just deeper,
You will know that all they pedal is linked to all that’s cheaper
It has no worth in life, as you search and as you strive,
Of how to run in treacle to simply stay alive.

I don’t fear much these days, as I look across the ocean,
and see what humans we have become, and what is now in motion.
Yet this stance we take with courage, and belief in all that passes,
And it matters not a jot, if you come from different classes.

If none of this resonates, and feels a little awkward,
I ask you watch these monsters close, their hate is quite straightforward.
Don’t divide or judge or hide, just join with us in unity,
Let’s stand in line, and once we’ve won they’ll demand immunity.

COPYRIGHT 2019 PEDRO BATPOET
http://www.pedrobatpoet.com