This Existence

Is it the silence that scares you

Of this suburban existence

A life of privilege and mundanity

Sucking the song and flight

Of you the lark

Hanging off the last tree of Eden

Needing the permission of some sort of entity

To let you live away from the subversive suburban landscape

Yet once you leave it still clings to you

They got in your head

The naivety

Comfort of conformity

Not wanting to be the firework that dares disturbs silent nights

Reality like a sport

You playing to the spectators in the very back row

The clown make-up pokes through

On each and everyone’s faces

The fool card faces you

Thinking you were immune

Elizabeth Almeida ©2021