Why we must fear creation

When media was created
We enjoyed the connection.
The avoidable awkward,
The feared afraid.
But as joy turned to power,
It fell from its pedastool,
Into the hands of the adults
Who grew.
Now,
Brain’s are woven in the threads
Of the people we may never
Meet face-to-face.
Dreams and desires,
No longer conjured by hope or passion,
Forced upon us by standards
Higher than heaven.
As I sit listening to
A faceless voice
Warming me to the alcohol
I use to forget our
Enslavement,
A person like you, or me,
Will be bred into a prison-like world,
Where the only escape is to die
And they will see this,
And they will recognise this,
And they will live this everyday.
But friends, we were not born this way.
We are born existing to create.
Which I suppose is where it fell apart.
When we create, we long for praise,
And when praised, we dread its destruction.
Like adults fearing puerile tears,
We praise the creation of destruction;
The same destruction that threatens our lives.
Only the children with creativity remaining
Fight to create a way
To destroy destruction.
But they are few,
And further than far between.
We didn’t create our earth;
I suppose that is why,
As the adults who got lost,
We stand back
And let it die.

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