Parting Papers Seas

They’ve run out of fresh blood to add in the fountain pens

So the paper seas are grudgingly parting right in front of them.

The pages meld and tear, cut open everyone who passes.

Those who own the worthy trees, control the sleepy masses.

Their backpacks are empty but blind trust is all they need.

The system is the system, honest men don’t have to sleep.

Even when the sails catch their blues, they recklessly persevere.

The drifting boat feeds on everyone who dares to come near.

And we observe from the shore, hoping the waves will come,

Hoping the waters will evaporate those who only serve some.

Don’t call us naïve though, we know these paper seas cold –

Their surfaces drown empty pockets and only float in gold.

Yet – their ship keeps sailing, our legs are muddy up to the knees.

The future must be a promising concept when you do as you please.

But they’ve run out of fresh blood to add in their fountain pens

So our scalps are grudgingly parting right in front of them.