Destiny's Desperation Unfound

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As structures of endless metal are erected,


the little town around the corner fades from memory.


My hands used to wield a scorching iron hammer,


now they grasp nothing but the items at my stationary.


All along the while my voice can manage nothing but a stammer.  


 


What I once recognized as my kin has regressed


into a faceless classification to be analyzed.


I’m told that only three words remain audible:


Working, middle, upper. Working middle, upper.


 


How can this be true?


I have a voice!


But am I already through?


It seems I have no choice.


 


Looking for my past only points towards my lack of a future,


has what I once saw as nature concealed itself as nurture?


Personal desperation calls but the individual’s fate stays unbound.


I’m desperate, where is my home now? I remain unfound. 

Created: Apr 08, 2012

Tags: poem, prose

Andrew Savory Document Media