Books around, books below
books above are all to be seen
in the empty head is a familiar scream
of the high decibel silence, that has always been.
I look at people around and wonder why
and how they be the way they are,
or they pretend with immense joy,
perplexity, worry; heights of insanity.
I find it annoying there are old men
who find it sheer responsibility,
to test the young to find how much,
they know and grade them of their ability.
Isn't it time they worry more
about how little life and time they have,
half the things they re aware they don't know
will remain unknown, and soon they will die.
I know they are not to blame, and
neither are we, guilty that way
they wouldn't have opted for that life
just like we wouldnt choose this, anyway!
But we are helpless, we are bound
by the invisible rope of prejudice
of those who make the rules, wonder
are they good enough, clever or wise?
After all that they ve been through,
not one of them had the gut, to follow the paths
of their mind, afterall they once had follwed up;
on the rules, some old butt had set.
Why are we to suffer? is what I ask,
this is one of those remarkable questions,
those that are said and forgotten, zillions of times,
like the one, "how much is a zillion?"