Everyday Life Is Just Another Poverty

Everyday life is just another poverty In-between the end of one tragedy And start of the new catastrophic holiday: Alone in graveyards, you're watching The flowers slowly wilt; and you can feel around you How everyone is abandoning, being sucked away; Even the unknown, silent ones, meditating there under the sod. But the lawns are well kept, to prove how pleasant, How harmless a fellow death really is. A selfish sentimentality Awakens and hoards all the moments Knowing that they disappear too soon; Everyone is leaving Whether it has become apparent yet or not And self is a suffocating construct, of a fake Suicidal reality, a diffuse spreading dishonesty Because the older you get, the less you can pretend That death doesn't exist, that things still make sense. There is a pathetic clown Whose lower lip is always ready to tremble When his dreams are taken away; He can no longer keep the children happy- In fact, he can't even keep them alive, From one death to the next: And when the world has been filled up with the dead, There will be no room left for the living. No, they aren't sleeping in peace; They've just left behind a numbed, frozen horror They are only ended, like a movie ends- And then the lights go up Showing all the tear stained faces And you stumble from the theater, sobbing While telling yourself you'll never be fooled; Never again, but even saying it, You know it's just another lie; Because the exit door is just up ahead And it's the only way out of the theater.