War of the Masses

Crashing to the ground, side by side,

Sharing pain and distant apathy,

Two soldiers in a wicked war,

Battling against the world’s expectations,

Each in their own space, but it is too big to fill on their own.


Tongues lap on dirty pavements,

Cleaning the streets of all lies and truth.

Buried insomniac is restless beneath the concrete,

Noise cuts through him, as sight has no end.


They say it’s not right to be that way,

They are the masses of right, spitting at the handful of wrongs.

They judge and load bullets as they hand over the gun,

They shoot you before an epiphany has left your tongue.


All are wicked to the victim of war,

Collective drones piled up to make a wall,

Segregation is on the tongue of them all,

The only belief that matters is your own.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

not sure on the title for this one


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allets's picture

Titles With Levels

There are so many kinds of masses, cancer as lumps, prayers, groups, throngs actually, clusters - as in the images in this poem, great title (like War of the Roses) ha! :D ~~A~~