Found Poem by Ted Steger

When you've grown numb to life's daily grind,
And you're quickly losing your sense of time,
Stuck stalking the elusive find,
That slowly starts to engulf your mind,
And your life's been put in place and set in time,
All to try to make you blind,
To make you feel like you're just someone in line.

And at those times I catch myself thinking,
Just what am I doing in this life that I'm living,
In this spot that I'm standing,
And in these hours of storm,
Where am I hiding,
And as the light fades away,
Why am I trying,
When this slick mountain slope
Just gets harder to climb,
And those hoped filled words,
Just get harder to find,
Yet I know deep in my mind,
That every word has its rhyme,
And when it comes time,
That I'll find mine,

But from this ocean of wisdom,
I'm all the time drinking,
Making the most,
Of the hand I've been given,
Always aware that my sands of time,
Are constantly drippin'.

But what keeps from joining this crab-bucket world?
Jumping through hoops, doing twists and twirls,
For those on top,
Who bought there spot,
Leaving the lesser on the side to rot.

I can't tell you who,
And I can't tell you what,
But, I can tell you,
What you should do,
Take a look around you and tell me whats true,

'Cause there are those who whirl and twirl,
And wheel and deal,
Playing games in a world that they think is real,
Letting the money in their pocket decide how they feel.

And all of those with nothing to lose,
Free to take any path they chose,
Think for themselves instead of watching the news,
Above ignorance, jealousy, and hatred.
They realize that nothing's sacred.

And there are those who come knockin' on everyone's door,
Always to boast of their beauty's galore,
Or there new hardwood floor,
Always tied up in their ribbons and bows,
Or how their skin glows,
That they don't even realize,
That they're truly hollow on the inside.

And there are those who tell you to stand in line,
Take your pills and you'll be fine,
There's no need to use your own mind,
When really there just protecting there own kind.

And those who pound on their old type-writer,
Paid to make the world seem brighter,
With the world's ignorance at their use,
Its easy to see they're to afraid to print the truth.

And those who are the authority,
Who proclaim their own divinity,
Think themselves above you and me,
Yet I hope they realize, whether they hate it or love it,
That they may be the law,
But they are not above it.

And those who tell you you're not good enough,
That it's you that's the one at the bottom of the scruff,
That that spot your standing, is far from the best,
That you should be thrown with all of the rest.

Yet you gotta find it within,
To convey to them,
That there's not just a thing,
In that spot that your standing,
That there's someone,
Who's loving and living,
And learning and giving,
With hates that they've harbored,
And dreams that they've shatterd.

So you gotta get up,
Get outta that ditch,
And you can't stagger a bit,
No matter how hard your kicked,
You've got to realize,
Deep down inside,
That those words people are telling ya',
Ain't worth your wit,
'Less you sit idley,
And give reason to it.