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We Live in a Cluster of Bubbles: a Poem
We live in a cluster of colorful bubbles
cocooned in what we're calling hope,
keeping ourselves away from troubles
staying clear of the end of our rope.
Survival---with stingy crumbs of true life
that's what it is for the most of people,
just working and planning in an endless strife
while buried in a groove with a spirit that's crippled.
Like robots programmed by a bunch of lunatics
all duped in believing in our free will,
overdosing on faith to become fanatics
and living our hell on a shared grill.
So, hey! What ever happened to a sovereign mind?
The one predestined for us to possess,
with a volition in a liking of a god-like kind
equipped for a divine reality to process.
Are we those same species from distant past
that shame us with some relics of ingenious make,
the ones that refuse to ever crumble in dust
hanging around for eons, for our envy sake.
Could we bust our bubbles and quit lame hoping
which pulls us away from the needed task at hand
responsible for life instead of helpless moping
to fulfill our destiny of being The Man.