Passive
A crow deceased
Recumbent on the street
A homeless man
Dying in a faithless town
Blinded fellows fill it
Stripped of a soul
Passing like ghosts
Filling the hole with daily chores
Looking to the future, hopeful
Saying their lives are miserably awful
They long for something else
But they’d hate to make amends
They pass, another day, another wake
They pass with ignorance and decay
Filling the roads unfulfillingly
Looking at their life incredolously
They tie themselves with an anchor to their purpose
Attached, yet not knowing why
To their life they acquiesce
Never passing simply to pass
To smile at the trees or be homeless with that man
Instead they look far away
They are ignorant, and shall stay this way
A town full of inane ants
Thinking they fulfill it
But fulfill the soul of the crow
If they take off their glasses
And look at the masses
They see we face a crises
One with many prices
And a man screams
To join his fear
“God is dead” they hear,
The responsibility is for us to bear
