Thread

We are a society
unconsciously supported by thread
one made up of stolen innocence
soak in blood and sweat
of those who came before
leaving scars and tears,
carcasses of mortality.
Neither us nor them knows whose,
yet we continue
to enjoy the puppet show,
where we are the puppets
and still we do not know.

There is a place
one with all that we desire in life,
we see others in there
but we're too weak to join
not because we couldn't
reason being we created the place
and only in our minds.

We look up to them
those we think to be pillars in our lives
they stand tall in the so call society
barking orders that we patiently await.
If only we could realize
that we're the pillars holding them to their position,
that we are stronger together
and all we ought to be is free,
we would walk away and let them fall
as we rise to our own ways of looking at life.
Newer perception of breaking a thread that for long has taken our sweat.
Maybe so, by being free at heart and in mind
we will cut the thread and sow a cloth worthy hiding our pains and scars,
enough to wipe our tears with.