I Am Not of This Crowd

I am not of this Crowd —
The void, the blank, the disavowed,
Identical of face
And marching on apace.

“Not too fast! Not so slow!”
Oh, how deathly, row by row
They wander blindly on
And go where they are told to go —
“Be gone! Be gone!”

Without a question — not one dares,
Or Death be done — and so they stare
Only forward, never back,
With fixed expressions, haunted, black.

So fake, unreal, so long unsung.
A shroud to mute their demon tongue.
Their grey, forgotten, sunken eyes
Are windows to the Truth — their Lies!

Boarded up, contained within,
Then cruelly drenched in see-through skin
And told to sleep —
“Sleep on! Sleep on!”

None will die uniquely.
Each will drown the same,
And row by row they’ll leave this Earth
As surely as they came.

“So sad! So sad!”
These threatened clones
Of blood and flesh and fragile bones,
These empty, frightened, programmed drones.
Controlled abstractly from afar —
Vaguely noticed, cogs they are.

Yet I will stand my ground
And not “Flow on, Flow on!”
While those around me drown —
“So long! So long!”

I will not play the Game —
I will not be the Same!
I am not of this Crowd —
The void, the blank, the disavowed,
Identical of face
And marching on apace.