Community,
they told me I
I was a part of it,
that I must comply.


We’re told to comply
in the way we speak,
in the way we interact,
in the way we feel.
Those who oppose,
those who stand
for a transcendental nature
are fitted with the title
of an Outcast.


An Outcast: A person
deemed unfit to live
amongst the classiest
of society. It’s a title
given out by the Elites.
They give out a title
under the predicate of a
falsehood and the personal
perpetual facade of laziness.
I am neither.


I am in the world, yet I am
somewhere that isn't Earth.
I am here, but I am not.
I exist, but my mind, my
opinions become a blur.


My mobility becomes a leisure,
and my leisure becomes my labor;
My labor becomes my profession;
My profession beholds my title.
I roam in the society casted by the
Elites, but I am merely a chess piece
to their game.


I am not an Outcast, I am not an Elite.
I am the class of the inbetween.
I am the silenced voice.
I am the history that’s repeated,
I am not a part of the community.
I am of the voices that
are disregarded.

The money and the power
fit like hand in glove,
manipulating our lives
with hands soaked in blood.

Like pawns on a chessboard
we follow their commands,
cleverly manipulated
by cold corporate minds.

They reap a tainted harvest
bought with sleeping souls,
their purses bulging
as they play out their roles.

Prancing about in their
huge stately homes,
costumes adorned
with skulls and bones.

Masonic handshakes
get you into their halls,
where horrors unfold
amidst terrified calls.

And way down here
on the creaking boards,
another pawn is lost
to the bloodthirsty hoard.

Their veils are returned
as they cover the loss.

Another family bereft,
must recover the cost.


*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 2nd march 2015.
Revised 2nd October 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.