The Leaking Hour Hand

The poem below is written from a child's point of view. A child crying for his tomorrow.

I mop the hope of tomorrows from my eyes

Slowly vanishing into the broken arms of tonight

As I try to satisfy the hunger of my thoughts with why(s)

What tomorrow do we promise the unborn?

You are so blinded to raise trees till you forget to raise us kids

My parents teach me to dread my neighbors as a substitute of loving them

Orders of the day have become follow tattoos and overlook taboos

As you leave footsteps at doors instead of leaving them on our hearts

Love has become of nothing but a game of trophies

Losing a phone is a catastrophe while losing virginity is just an incidence

Our friends have more faith in us than our own families

You walk down the aisle for the profits of divorce instead of love

I see you every Sunday morning nursing hangovers instead of fellowship

Then later set your hopes in gold and when it fails you blame God

Please whisper in my sleep to me who are my role models

You tell me to make me wishes instead of make prayers

You spend every night enjoying the humorous Hollywood stars

But never for once have I seen you enjoy the glamor of sky and its stars

All you teach me is make money from the poor and leave ‘em in bare bellies

Racism is no longer a subject of skin pigment but class

You say you are happy and living the life at its best

While all I see are zombies playing humans; a party of dead ghosts

I look to the sky and it rains down on my velvet suit

The drops of rain tinted in red with tears of the unborn terrified to be born

This is the era where Government rights come first and citizens’ come last

In bookshops bibles cost more than story books

Where emotions pollute environment more than automobiles

They pledge us freedom then inject into us micro-chips to control us

You feed me on genetically modified meals then call me fat

Why do you say you are fighting for peace, when fighting itself is a war?

Why are you looking to the sky for aliens instead of help?

We are all nothing but a leaking hour hand

And before midnight we’ll all be hymns of ghosts

Yes I hear you all say You Only Live Once

But at least leave crumbles for me and the unborn child.

© G!ovanni