City Life

 

By Matt Cook

The streets are busy,

I’m dizzy,

Can someone give me,

A cup of tea,

To calm me,

Can’t disarm me,

The billboards charm me,

Subliminally harm me,

They’re scarring me,

To my living they’re marring me;

I’m yearning for a change,

Want to be turning away,

From the burning of the day,

Learning to be afraid,

Ever since the centre of world trade;

Was hit by the planes,

Corporations made gains,

From a nations pains,

Wars not the same;

Privatisation comes into play,

Companies are the sway in conflicts today,

The city is the breeding ground molded out of clay,

All around me is grey,

Separated by advertisements glitzy spray,

All through the night and day,

Seared into our minds and there they stay,

With our desires they play;

Our needs fade,

Our wants take centre stage.

Rats in a maze,

Part of the consumerist parade;

Scrimp and scrape,

It’s hard to shake,

The designer makes,

The lights and fakes,

A city of high stakes,

Burgers and shakes,

Little parks, little lakes;

Natures grave,

A petri dish for fights and frays,

Wait there, brake there, another delay,

We are the needle this is the stack of hay,

Can’t find yourself in a city that’s built around pay,

Avoiding the crowds most of the day;

On a borderline mental catastrophe,

Struggling to think accurately,

Doing my best not to act critically,

Trying to move practically,

What do we crave actually?

Living in the city regrettably,

All the business men need vasectomies,

Stop them producing slave work destined new born babies,

The city is crazy,

Working 7-6 daily;

No time to appreciate the flowers or the trees,

The still and the breeze,

Living in traffic makes it hard to breathe,

Listen to me wheeze,

Staying here just to earn some bees,

To pay the fees,

Of living free,

In a democracy.

My Future Calling?

There’s a time in life when your head says stop,

At the same time my heart would rather not.

I’ve played overseas and I want much more,

But the world around me is shutting the door.

It’s not easy having wings like these,

It’s too hard for everyone to be pleased.

I scratch my head and bite heard on my lip,

I just can’t help but rock this ship.

If I stop will I ever start again,

If you made me you couldn’t be my friend.

So I stand still head turning in the wind,

Listening for a whistle hoping it will sing.

Lost in freedom and spoilt by choice,

Need an ear to listen to the cries in my voice.

The world offers handcuffs as a comfortable fit,

Do I offer my wrists and willingly sit.

I’ve started putting to bed my adventurous side,

The clamouring of society will see me die.

My will will be bent to the needs of normality,

My heart will surely be my life’s truest casualty.

Maybe in the shadows of London’s towers,

I’ll be able to find a new set of powers.

With my hands together I will pray to God,

That I can see a career and smile and nod.

A fork in my road is approaching fast,

How much longer can my heartbeat last?

My resolve will be tested a thousand times over,

I can shrink under pressure or become a grower.

My choices now shape my eternity,

Tossing and turning wanna do right by me.

There are horizons that are someway off,

Maybe I’m cut from a different cloth.

Do people understand the struggle within,

Trying to share deep secrets with my kin.

Like waves on a rock that continually crash,

I beat myself with a metaphorical lash.

Is the sun setting on an idealistic endeavor,

I’m so fearful that I’ll regret it forever.

Making decisions is so fricken hard,

Life has dealt me only this set of cards.

As I open my eyes to the mornings light,

Wondering if it’s right to put up a fight.

I roll over, close my eyes surrendering,

Maybe my dreams will reveal my happy ending.

 

Matt Cook 2016