Habitat

I'm trying to find the right niche of cynicism to live in
A morbid little place I can settle down and call home
Where all my thoughts breed new creation
And all my tales bleed meaning into obscurity

I'm a wishful thinker in that my words have some semblance of purpose
In any of the eyes of humanity that we see with
Or any of the minds in our nation we believe with

Four-score and all the care in the world
And we still have problems with each other
Fighting just to get a chance to fight
Ignoring bodies if it means we can kill someone

The dys-utopian future we are leading ourselves into
Where everyone suffers but smiles anyway
Because they are not the only one hurting
It's decidedly archaic

The keeping of the peace will be handed down to us
In the form of the Reapers scythe
And all will be well in one fell swing
Of humanity's dominance through humanity's neck

Our fate is in the hands of morons
Our hands
We're all going to die someday
All, as a group, not as individuals
But that's the kind of thing I'm looking for
Simple macabre shtick I can give insight into


Lucky for me, my niche isn't so far off
It's not an ideology I'm waiting for
Just the passage of time

Reviews

[Leon Agnew]

Awesome word choice. You sacrifice rhythm for the raw-ness of truth and meaning - good choice. I like your style, keep it up.

[Cassandra]

How .. true and insightful. I'm right there beside ya when that niche becomes reality. This was such a sturdy poem. The words carefully chosen. Very much enjoyed and made me think a little bit more about my own realm of cynicism that I live in.

Our fate is in the hands of morons
Our hands
We're all going to die someday
All, as a group, not as individuals
But that's the kind of thing I'm looking for
Simple macabre shtick I can give insight into .. just grand.

[Chris Dandy]

This is a really powerful poem. It's awesome.