The routine isn’t normal in anyone’s eyes
But those better, more well off and in touch with God.
Young dreams wrongly imprisoned become nightmarish.
What becomes of the children who don’t get their wish?
If they end up in prisons, why would that seem odd?
Could it be that those fortunate wear a disguise?
Out of nowhere rebellion ignites in the soul
Yet it has no direction. Wrath takes a back seat
For it has not an outlet to relieve the pain
Due to common neglect and the everyday strain
Put upon such a young one. Therefore, in the street
He will search for an answer and maybe a goal.
No one need be awakened nor prodded to shame
For the ways life evolves for some is colored by
An ineffable ugliness deep in the face
Of our selfish and arrogant subhuman race.
We’re awakened, but psychically, and this is why
There’s scant hope in our knowing that all feel the same.