The Living Are Dead


The living are dead

Moving day in, day out

But sadly unmoved.

The little things are shrouded

By meaningless pursuits.

And the words they utter, sans passion.

They sleep, but are without rest

Their tomorrows, driven by a superficial mind

Their hearts, as keyholes

In dire need of the right key

To unlock the door,

The door to a life with purpose.

But see, the living are dead,

The wait for revival, indefinite.

 

7 thoughts on “The Living Are Dead

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s