Oh, ye on your pedestal, play the harp that only you can hear, Don't look down to Earth, there's nothing you can see. Simple as the rising sun, The children are not free. Bound with chains around their necks, They follow you, you hold the key. They trip on rocks, you pull the lead - they die. Dolls wthout faces are what they are to you, never do you cry. Find your peace amongst your self. Pick the flower of your pain. Step from your pedestal, the only way is down, touch the ground with fingers born anew with love, cut the childern's hated ropes, and let them fly away as doves, Let yourself be born anew, let your hating heart beat true.
Reason for writing:
this poem occured as one of my on the spot jobs, but I think it turned out ok. I was once again commenting on how perfection and authority can be mixed up, confused, and all the little people out there can be crushed benieth thier feet unnoticed.
Birth sign: Pisces
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