The Mercy of Gods

A poem evaluating the reason why escapism is more popular than ever.

Image Credit: 
© 2011 Flash Totty / Used With Permission

They are gods among insects,
That inspect our worth,
The girth grounds us to Earth.
Each suit stands with hands
Orchestrating scores of war,
Calling what for.
And silencing our pain,
A drain it is to stain them
With the blood they spill.
A shrill truth that we are pawns,
Since to dawn of kings,
Who clip our wings and blind us,
No trust, just dust and lies,
And millions of unheard cries.
No coin is worth my life,
Or this strife in our homes,
From countless loans.
Live freely and fly straight
Through the sky and try for all,
And if you fall I’ll save you,
It’s true, in my dreams,
It seems.
But with startling brutality,
Reality buries itself within me.
I see all of the hate of those,
We call super powers,
Who will never be heroes.

Sometimes she writes. Sometimes she doesn’t. Either way, she’s not doing what she’s supposed to be doing.

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