These power lines trace our maps
like information on a graph
Traveled by the working class
rushing, running, shuffling for a place

Hear gentle cries and screams
from the future generation
seeing hordes of vehicles
predict the complications

Flocks of seagulls pepper the sky
only to turn to ash
Plumes of poison drift through the air
like drift wood down a lazy river

These power lines hum like a religious chant
carrying death
but no the death that comes to mind
but Eventual

Mr.Sewtan-Ty running frantically
with cinder blocks on his shoulders
a ball and chain locked to his leg
feeling as if he can never grow older...

Like sheep we run from danger
that has face value
we've no instinct for a silent fight
until the world slows

Stops spinning, stop glowing
human life will stop growing
Open your eyes
and conceive the knowledge
Someone else's problem
is exactly what you'll call it.

* If you wouldn't mind, id love some feedback on how it is, some corrections, better structure, wording, ryhming. Everything. I'd love to learn how to write better.

I'f you want any suggestions state first your reason for writing, such as just feedback, relaxing, work or any other. Then I would try to give some useful as possible answer. Don't be shy and state full reason even if it is ambitious.

I'f you want any suggestions state first your reason for writing, such as just feedback, relaxing, work or any other. Then I would try to give some useful as possible answer. Don't be shy and state full reason even if it is ambitious.

I was riding the city bus and watching the powerlines squiggly back and forth along the road. Then I though, what would it look ike from above, and pictured the up and down, back and forth lineage of powerlines. Then I noticed people running for the bus, suitcases, lunch bags, even just coffee, rushing to catch a bus that is their only way of not being late for work. I noticed a flow of birds fly right through a smoke stack creeping out of a building off in the distance. I concluded with seeing the world as a life of monotonous rushing and working, and how strenuous it is. Yet no one see result of this hard-work, because in reality, its all of this hard work everyone is rushing off to do that is creating all this pollution and civil turmoil, poverty, violence etc. Day-by-day they go off to work hard, thinking its all for something good, but they're creating their very own death and its creeping up behind them.

No one realizes that they're are fighting something that they can see first hand, and that's life itself, work, education, kids, spouses, family in general, they fight poverty and the line up at the check-out line. Yet no one can see the invisible fight, and that's the were putting onto this planet, the wars, pollution, power-trips from egocentric dictators... few people can realizes the priori knowledge that is right before their eyes.

Then what I would say everything you can do to improve is keep writing until you are satisfied. If people to tell you change your style of something like that it might hurt your mind. And I mean it. As long as you feel what you write is telling what you see it is enough for your conscience, and if there is at least one person who likes it then it is enough for your confidence.

Lol, I'm not worried about pleasing people, I'm more concerned about structure and anything that seems to add a bit more of a professionalism to it. Unless there's such this a type of post-modernism in poetry, in which case, I don't think I'm doing half bad lol

Then you luck for now. I'm going crazy with my work (too much ideas and 1 hour of sleep per week)