Concrete Jungles & Industrialisation
A Short Poem
My rage starts to bloom,
there is nothing to resume,
remind me, who are you?
Somalis in the atmosphere
lonely whispers in the Concrete Jungle,
we just have to get out of here,
You think you’re gods, but for the wisdom,
you’ll never enter his kingdom,
full of sadism, observed through your prism,
You make me feel weak,
and maybe a little meek,
as I go down in flames, stop,
hold me closer in my dreams,
we have a hallowed soul,
We have hallowed scarlet flowing our veins for we are the essence of the creation,
no more dark clouds over the horizon, rest our souls,
coming undone, everything falls in silence,
I see through you now,
that the cycle of possibilities is infinite,
headed toward nothing,
Victorian psychiatrists came close to solving the issue,
but they failed to realize the root cause of their patients’ suffering,
which we, to this day, continue to ignore; and that is industrialization.
We will soon end up with the,
mechanisation of man,
replace his hallowed scarlet with,
oil, to enable to him to further toil,
away for the industrialisation everyday.
