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That rat that squirms in the deepest darkest depressions of our minds,
The cruel demonata that whispers shame in our grinds,
We are a certain few that squeeze into the corner of negativity
The few that seek pleasures in false worlds and hopes to keep us going,
The few that feel the pain when the little things dont matter to most others,
when your pen and paper is your company,
when art is the life of so called dreamers,
And imagination has no space for the modern world and its money
Where do we turn to when all we do is not enough for the people who matter the most?
what do our struggles in our hearts become whenn we settle to the minds of common men and women,
The lives we choose should follow those of the river's flow.
The money is all we live for and nothing else
Where did the hub of deep thinkers in the halls of Oxford go to?
From Newton to Galileo, from Da Vinci to Socrates.
What society has become of this day is the settles in our struggles.
The voice that needs to put down in your heart, to stay in line.
What's the worth of that line? Besides, its darker to follow under people's shadows.
Step out of your certain demise as a human and search for pastures daring enough than the mere Savanna.
Fight in the brightest day and the darkest night to have your mind out for a new path and new ideologies.
How would we have ever known the cosmos if it wasn't through the most powerful lens, curiosity
How would different backgrounds in history have gained freedom if it wasn't through the sharpest weapon known to man,
A Voice.
Published by Dedpixl Roy
7 years ago 
