Empty Things.

[rewiiired]

Disillusioned with this species of mine
angry with myself for being part of the madness,
helping the cyclone spin, reinforcing the antics.

Often feel I've lost the value in what they seem to seek.
They say to have faith and then they betray;
they say they love, then just walk away.

Hungry for meaning but eating empty things,
pretending to quench their thirst
with cantine after cantine

weighed down with sand and wrapped in mirage
as they seek themselves where
they're most certainly not.

How much longer will I look in the mirror and say
that I'll find some truth to use and disperse one day
instead of living the lies that drain my life away?

And how much longer can we survive
in mayday to meet the ground, wrapped in lullabies,
thinking they'll soften the fall or tell us how to fly?

 

[not_broken_420]

I really like this one. I've written poems with this topic as well.

 

[(Wordy)]

Yeah, there's insight in this, as I've come to expect from your stuff.

Hungry for meaning but eating empty things

weighed down with sand and wrapped in mirage
as they seek themselves where
they're most certainly not.

So many confused lives, so much grasping at air...