A Poets View Of Modern Life Poem by Yohan Confectioner

I'm writing lines of poetry in my head,
While i'm walking on the trampled streets,
While i'm on the escalator to the subway,
While i'm waiting at the bus stand.

This life doesn't seem to fit:
Stamp, blank paper, mindless chatter.
I'm hardly there with it,
But i'm thrust headfirst into the midst of it.

The temporal dimension of existence that we are host to.
Life is moulding me into an insensitive bastard.
Only my concealed ignorance and shrouded pride,
Both which I've consciously shut out in the past,
Can save me now it seems.
I'm trying my best to lie curled up against the world.

I look at her and I can only see
The burden of her shopping bags that keep multiplying.
But there's more to the weight she's carrying,
I'm just unable to glance at her again.

I turn the other side.
The brown trousered middle aged bespectacled man is nodding off,
his head bouncing off the window of the metro.
And here I am, in between.

With a craving desire to break free
From this system which stalls the flow;
The flow and rhythmic tempo
Which we've all felt at one point in our lives.

The adventurous days which were not just spent basking in the sun,
But with boundless energy, desire, an open mind,
An insatiated appetite to burst forth,
Days when our dreams couldn't be suppressed easily.