Stifled life, the air

Stale
A creeping fear
Stagnation
A terror felt
Never wanes

Surrounded
The worms, vermin of civility
Wheeled monoliths, traversing to nowhere
A mechanised climb of chill and fractive faecal stink

To slice the air, to render through
This cold mire, this central state
Of the disease and morose cause célèbre

The sour honey utopia of two score
The ideal you have lead to believe
Washed away by capitulation and arrogance

This meditative mind, this willing heart
Washing, draining, noises, voice
Day-to-day.

Ian V. Seymour ©2012

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