Confused, lost, little sheeple we have become,
accepting our fate with never a question;
‘do not cause trouble, for you have plenty.’

I refuse to believe that our free will is some
accident —
something we sacrificed along the way.
Shall we pay whatever toll is charged?
Offer a libation to the God of Mars,
because that is what is expected?

Or do we beat on the door,
demand to be let in,
grasp the handle and force it open
when they refuse to answer?

We wander in the proverbial dark,
ignorant of answers beyond our grasp,
for we never demand the right to ask.







For The Sunday Whirl



Filed under Poetry

8 responses to “Questions

  1. I’m baaaack! LOVE ‘sheeple’! I also like the structure through questions. I tend to forget that can work well with the right topic.

  2. Mark, this is absolutely splendid. It reads so well aloud, and the wordle words are un-noticeable.

  3. I, too, love the use of “sheeple”! As someone who knows who sheep are, that was a great image in my mind from the start.

  4. ‘Tis it not the poets’ job to question? Of course it is! Delightful read.

  5. Amazing read. I agree with the read aloud comment. This rocks, Mark. I love the tongue in cheek humor. You had me baaaaaing.

  6. magicalmysticalteacher

    I work with a lot of “sheeple.” I just never knew what to call them before! 🙂

    Six-Word Whirl

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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