we shift in our concreat tombs, sun burns and yet another day greets the zombied masses. shuffling feet onto another highway congesting the morning. we slave over and over, rising to the top, only to meet another bottom. hearded and fed like cattle, branded and marketed for the highest bidder. only after we give our last bit of self do we go home. so i say don't be a sheep, no, be a wolf, or a bird, or a lion. greet the day as if it was your last.

what happend to frequency?
dark0ne Reviewed by dark0ne on . A poem I've been reading about lucid dreams today, and I was inspired to write a poem about them. Tell me what you think of it, or post your own poetry if you're so inclined. In the darkness of nightfall I stare at the ceiling As I wait for fatigue to take over my head. Then I lose all the worries that life has me feeling And I start to forget my existence in bed. I begin to imagine myself as a being Free of all of the fears and the angst of the earth. Rating: 5