This Broken  Path

I look up and I see the clouds,

Like the hands of god, they extend.

The devout symbol of power,

Bowing to a greater purpose,

Hands clawing, reaching, hoping, for a resolution, for a future, for something to relinquish this indifference, for something to ignite passion.

And yet they falter,

They hesitate.

A veil of apprehension separates present from future, preventing change, inhibiting our ability to prosper,

We are stuck, and yet we are the ones supplying the glue,

Moulding ourselves to resemble one another,

Forgoing variance, renouncing our souls, becoming indistinguishable in our hopes of uniting,

Isolated we remain.

A whisper in the wind sings the song of change,

Voices scream, forgotten.

Cries of injustice, a wrathful tune, Ignored in favour of an easier harmony.

Replaying the monotony, a broken record voicing a cacophonous discord.

Our society fragmented, and aware but reluctant to adapt.

We choose to live in ignorance,

We have chosen this broken path.