Poetry

The Stupid People Dance

By Marcus Pan

Have I moved from old to new,
Yet stayed in the same abode?
I remember words came from above,
With accusations burning cold.

And must I for life's long game,
Shelter from the breath?
The breath of well-known condemnation,
Does release only come in death?

Explanations fall on deaf ears,
Condescension, twisting words.
The louder that I raise my voice,
The lesser I am heard.

Shut thy mouth, speak not your thoughts,
Hiding feelings in my own home.
Carry on through daily rituals,
Silent, submissive drone.

Play my music to myself,
Let not the others hear.
Music helps bring me out,
But I must hide and cower in fear.

I still remember days long gone,
When words spoken stung like ice.
Falling down from up above,
And I hear those words now twice.

Eccentricities harped upon,
My differences abound.
But show them not in this place,
For eccentricities people hound.

Blood boiling in my veins,
There is plenty I wish to say.
But a lifetime's silence I have bought,
And there is no god I pray.

How easier would it be,
If I could not think of things I do?
How much simpler of a life,
If my mind was not so true?

I look around and see them all,
The stupid people dance.
Maybe I would have a better life,
If I followed in their trance.