A Prose of Home

this is something i wrote a while ago, about the conformity of everyone in my hometown/area, and how they give up everything to be like their dad, and like his dad, and his dad before him, without a thought of what they could do for themselves.

it really bothers me how people can just sit back and relax, while barely making it through life; no idea of what pleasures they could enjoy if they just would get out of the area and do something with their life.

anyway, here goes


touched by the tortured and forgotten by few
remembered for the downfalls as the life progresses.
mocked up in a scale that judges oranges from apes
blindsided by opinions that wont let the mind run away
filed like a chart of hierechy to a system of yesterdays
threatened by the few who run, by those that challenge
beliefs and customs and your neighbors name
the system that encourages shoots down the education
that once stood for your future and all that can be.
the houses recycled as son replaces father
the assembly line brings the product and tonights meal
while taking away all that is earned
forgotten ideas of tomorrow bring the traditions of yesteryears
as a life is lost to the tradition of conformity.
we somehow got away
and yes, this is waht i call home.

i guess it could really be about anywhere. as much as home is home, sometimes it really doesnt seem like a place i want to be, but more of a place to go.