Sitting at the bottom of the well,
Holding my breath,
Waiting to inhale life,
I slip into unconscious bliss,
I scream with anguish,
As I awaken in the inferno.
The puppeteer is forcing me to dance.
I’m like a zombie,
Straddling two worlds,
Aching for rest,
But the show must go on.
I memorize my lines,
And get into wardrobe.
It’s an Oscar performance,
But why? How?
Can’t anyone see my sorrow?
Can’t anyone see through the smile?
The transparent, shallow façade,
To my existence?
Can’t anyone see me?
Don’t you hear my shouts for liberation?
Trapped in this cell?
Shackled by the beating of my own heart.
Ba boom, ba boom, ba boom
Release my spirit.
Instead, I remain trapped.
Can’t you smell the stench,
From the rotting of my soul,
As the worms feast
On the remains of my dignity,
On the flesh of my righteousness?
Too much to be done.
No rest yet, UNDEAD,
Forced to linger on.
I have to complete my task.
The ground’s fertile for revolution.
The seeds must be sown
To reap the nation,
And I,
I am destined to toil in the struggle,
Dedicating every drop of blood that flows,
Until at last there is no more
And I finally sleep.
© Diane Griffin, 2000

Same Song


Life turns on and on, and we,

We keep singing the same songs,

Songs of love lost and pain so deep.

We ask why our heart’s to weep,

But we fail to stop,

Stop and reflect on the choices we make,

Choices like lying for love to make

And birthing babies for streets to take.

Whirling, twirling, dancing to the beat of the drum

In a mindless trance, death and dumb

Unaware of the reason why,

Why we choose the choices that make us cry

And why we chose the choices that make us die,

Slow and painful

Full of blood, sweat, and cum

Selling our souls for promises unkept

And giving love on credit

When there’s an ever-increasing debt

The answers that solve the mystery

Continue to evade me.

Despite the fact that I seek to know,

seek to find the wisdom so that I may grow.

Philosophies in living,

Ideologies on giving,

Saying that humanity is supreme

Love’s what important, not CREAM

Don’t hold up in this era of self.

Individualism is at an all time high.

Everyone’s grabbing for a piece of the pie.

Family has become a liability,

Merely a luxury,

Nothing to pursue.

Actually, avoid is what the wise do.

But then we wonder why,

For a needle he’d lie

Down in the trenches alone,

No place to call home.

The souls of the people continue to roam,

Restless spirits,

Tortured and cursed.

But life turns on and on, and we,

We keep singing the same songs!