Box

I suppose that somewhere, in some room,
Someone looks at a TV screen, and sends
Out all of this: the bread and circuses,
The denigrating photos of celebrities,
Whose meaning to you should be nil,
The polls, the pictures of the food you
Ought to go and buy and eat, the videos
Of pretty singers droning truly boring
Songs, and who this man is, I don't
Know. He works for someone, somewhere,
Makes their money, takes his kids to school,
And tells himself he has some meaning,
As you tell yourself, as you watch someone
Famous go to jail, that you have meaning,
But you don't. You're just another cell
Inside this organism, bled of any sense
Of, what, significance? The organism
Blunders on. The man knows how to
Keep you happy. Do your work. That's
All you're worth, and I will be inside
A room, somewhere, believing, because
He has shown me, that I am the one,
That I can save you, but I can't. You're
Too wed to the TV. So, am I.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2012-04-06 at 01:18

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