Where’s the discontent here?
I think it somehow got lost.
We walk these streets
Bruised and sore from heated nights
Of passion proclaimed as love
And shown as lust.

We work like zombies
As they mold us into what they want
And we are naive enough to believe
That we want to fit their mold.

We’ve learned that money is all there is
And people don’t matter anymore.
They’ve all been replaced by computers now anyway.

And now we are happy we have
More time to work.
You’d think we’d have more time to live.


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Copyright ©1998 by Carol Hopwood. All rights reserved.
Published in Poetry the Write Way: Webstatic – First Journey (Sept. 2000)
Carol’s biography page