November 6th, 1990
Chaucerian Verse
She smiles blindly, speaking empty words
to the people who surround her in herds
Always encompassed, she’s never alone
they cling to her thoughts, they’re afraid of their own
They keep themselves a collective blank sheet
on which they transcribe her words to repeat
Their own philosophies they rarely share
Why say something new when her ideas are there?
She’s bound by a chain, a “friend” makes each link
They claim they’re her friends, for that’s what they think
But she knows the truth, not one link is real
because no one has lived to be the ideal–
a soul who’ll listen without the intent
of revealing how each whispered secret was spent
Who shares with her too, the spirit’s restless dreams
(Impossible in this world–or so it seems)
If she were to fight against the harsh grain
to escape the life that’s grown so inane
She’d have to leave all acquaintences plastic
in high school a recourse far too drastic
So she surrenders herself to the drone
it’s a far better thing than being alone
A false facsimile of what’s deep within
she longs for the day her life can begin
Victimized by her mind’s own inventions
the present can’t fill the future’s intentions
