The Society

Floating, observing, thick, grey fog among the absence  

Faint noises break my trance—clear my head  

An approaching, ghostly essence  

Realization takes over—am I dead—are we dead  

Lost, floating, seeing remains of faces 

Understanding will never be, will never be  

Words once said fade and become only absent traces  

Soothe my ears with sweet whispers of glee— 

NO—escape, begin to wake—yes—wake  

You are immune to the stigma built  

The ridiculing of human nature: a mistake 

Worries built—the panic—the guilt 

I am not dead—or even alive quite yet 

The wind shakes what is left of my fear 

Assimilation can no longer pose a threat 

There is no need to hide the tears   

Resolution? Cannot be without the source 

Who can tell whether they were misinformed 

Possibly a worthless, deliberate course 

For the ones who have conformed!