A Modern Human’s Discomfort

Under the milk-shine

Ancient soul brine

Murder of the daily grind

Looking at you, what do I find?


No religion in our minds

No way to pass the time

No more words to rhyme.


Stuck here I watch as you die

And cry

and sigh

When can we fly?

Why aren’t you high?


Listen to me whine


Let’s get out of this pig-sty

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I reply.