“With My Words” by Trevor Witt
With my words, I paint a picture,
Not as a realist or a pessimist,
But as a dreamer of dreams.
For that is what I need,
To fill this hole in my heart,
To reach the Divine.
“Zombie Me” by Trevor Witt
Zombie me,
Permanently hungry,
Yet feeling little discomfort on an empty stomach.
Awake, but adrift,
I float through space,
Searching for brains and kindhearted souls,
To feed on, to make me more like them.
Stumbling forward each day and night,
I am too tired to think about what comes next,
Too tired to think about what comes after the next meal.
That is all there is –
The trek and hunger,
Feeding and another trek.
“The Line Between Love And Hate” by Trevor Witt
The line between hate and love is thin.
Love births dreams,
And broken dreams birth hate.
But sometimes, it is possible to rebuild dreams,
Or to build others in their place,
Letting go of empty space.
Often the situation is unclear,
Our imaginations too small,
And the thin line blurs,
Our hearts are hurt and filled with fear,
Until the day our imaginations breath life into our dreams again.
“Modernity” by Trevor Witt
Modernity,
Solitude together.
Alone, constantly surrounded by strangers.
Entertainment, gluttony, and consumerism
Have left us in a comatose state,
As if we had overdosed on soma,
The choice drug in the dystopian novel Brave New World.
Success is now defined
As leaving your friends behind
In order to make enough
To buy enough
Distractions
To prevent you from losing your mind.
Modernity.
Move away from your parents.
Chase the American dream,
Running away in order to find yourself.
Better choices could have made me rich –
Better only because they would have saved me from poverty.
Make the right choice,
And prestige and wealth can be yours.
The right choice – and skill and luck and…
It’s all a lie.
Searching for satiation,
For enough wealth,
For approval,
To feel fulfilled,
Will leave you empty.
Modern America,
Filling emptiness with emptiness.
“Bullshitting and Begging” by Trevor Witt
Bullshitting,
Today’s currency.
You must sell yourself,
Before you can sell anything else.
Before you can build a tower,
You must sell your vision of the view.
Before you can open a cafe,
You must convince the banker you are committed.
Before you can slave away for someone else’s two story house,
You must first convince them you are eager to be their slave.
Before you can be a creative strategist,
You must be a robotic and mindless servant.
Before you move up that corporate ladder,
Know that it leads to the Tower of Babel.
Before you can lead, you must serve.
This is the logic of the universe.
But it is a strange time indeed,
When you must beg to serve those in need.
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