Faceless March

Unborn destiny

unknowingly tied into the written word

amongst the many grey faced marchers

those who claim to see but can't

like the souls with ears on their finger tips

laughter springs from a flick of the wrist

existence

an easy picture to bemuse

when you can't tell the lights have gone out

the grey faces

marching 

stepping

cogs accustom to the darkness

no meaning exists in the colour and rhyme

only time 

no meaning in the written word

what more can be found 

than a five star seller for the shelf

closed eyes march to the slaughter house

outnumbering cattle in ignorance 

their eyes must close

the old world was too bright

under developed lumps of skin 

poor excuses for ears

the old words were too pure

You all hear the same streaming flat line!

stay grey! 

minute by pointless minute!

You're chance to feel the change has passed!

You've given it away

we all see why

shivering there in a stand still 

bated breath? 

you still march... 

we shall forever sigh 

you ever faceless grey ones

Author's Note

interpretation is for the reader

Reviews

[Matty Bosox]

Whether you interpret this as the dead walking through the fade on their way to the light or the meaningless life of the fake people in this world..like Corey Taylor says "An epidemic of the mannequins contaminating everything" Or whether you just want to interpret this as a black and white stupid zombie film from the thirties....Any way it is interpreted it should be so as utter excellence...Your words are in such a hardy and beating rythym...Strong and hard like a punch in the face from Mike Tyson yet smooth and silky like...um...well like Emma Stone's skin....I have reviewed many writers of poetry and you have given me one of my favorites in this write...Excellent job Ivy...Very poisonous indeed...

[Poison Ivy]

WoW!!! I'm honoured! You took so much time into reviewing this. thank you so much :) and i love your interpretation!

[MoriartyMesa]

Oh my lord I loved this, you hit a graphic tone that should be noted. I hope to read more on this Alan Moore level of thinking and writing.

[Kenaz]

Dangle a dollar in front of man and he will walk forever to his grave.

[light and ashes]

This is so interesting,intriguing,gripping,and unique. We must not let society cause us to march brain washed like the ones in this write, phenomenal work.

[Junert]

Well, good.

[Androglossia]

This goes to the ones who heard but didn't listen. To those who looked but didn't see. To those who said things they really didn't mean. This is an impressive write once again. It made me think. And again, well done!

[Lisa Ring]

I look around and see them too. I would interpret ears on their fingertips to mean they hear only what they can feel, or they only care about themselves- if they can care at all. Brilliantly written.

[Poison Ivy]

exactly, another good point. :) thnx

[Jeleseka]

I see this as a birthing/death kind of thing. Like a fetus not being able to see, babies causing laughter when seen. When babies are born, their eyes cannot easily adjust to the light, there for they come out squinting. And the marching can represent the babies march through the uterus/vagina. And the death part could mean anything from hell, and the dreadful march to the gates, or to the unknown, like fictional things as zombies, rotting flesh, crazed laughter, them relying on smell instead of poor eye sight. Zombies are known to have grey faces, and they march long ways to get what they want. Or it could be a thing about some parallel universe that we think, ceases to exist. In anyway you look at this, you feel a strong compelling force to understand what this is... a very mystical piece indeed. Great job :)

[...]

You caught me in this piece. You said a lot, and you said it well. I try to hope that grey skies promise storms of awakening. Hold your candle to the darkness, dear poet :)

[Heather]

Souls with ears on their fingertips - this is the line that grabbed me and made me want to drink this poem in quickly to ...get it all in. But then I needed to read it slowly, let it linger on my tongue, let it get under my skin, sink into my being. The faceless grey ones are those who think they get it, that say they understand the power and feeling of the written world but are just lost in regurgitation. Beautifully done!

[Poison Ivy]

wow! your review in itself is a poem. :) thnx

[Yheela]

Being such a geek I immediately think of Dark Souls (the video game), where you as an undead have to travel the "world" to find your soul ... if it's even there at the end.
This is a thrilling poem, so much more to interpret with every read.

[Poison Ivy]

nice! awesome way to think about it!