*Edited version of an older poem*
Slandered on the juvenile philosophy of candle lit promises we stagger our moments. I struck my head on the idea and was left concussed.
The future is dimmed with techno beats, the thump and pound of a good night out, to drown concerns with one more shot, then to wake up with another.
"Parade the streets and expose yourself, just to show that you're still alive!"
As I squinted through the mist and fumes of lost minds in the University Halls I per chanced to notice you, a soul of glass among the oceans, you sank right to the bottom.
You were being drowned by the 'modern' ideas of "what is truth?", the hideous human gods, self deities with their chosen moralities and hypocrisy.
The room was too full of pictures and posters of naked idolised pop stars to even breathe.
There is no such thing as an innocent victim of death.
Life is living proof of this.
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