Idle minds get maimed after sunset

Greetings

Thank you to all 917 of you who have viewed my blog.I hope you have enjoyed it and it has somehow inspired you to find your voice.Please continue visiting there will be regular updates of the blog.I encourage you to leave you comments, register to get updates sent to your e-mail by filling in your e-mail address above and click submit.

The poem today was first published in the reunitedsiblings' 3rd anthology "Alliance ya batlhanka".It was a great experience working with the siblings and being one "ya bathlanka".To get yourself a copy e-mail Wesley Pepper at wesleypepper@gmail.com.

Idle minds

18 hundred hours
Loyal sheep flock to the slaughter
Anxiously waiting to be IN FORMED
Their conscience formed
In the square images of their idols
Artificial smiles predict
What soap is best suited for the night
This is not goodnight
But an awakening of digital zombies
Who don’t see the light
Hypnotised by flash-lights
True disciples of the lime light
Idle minds get maimed after sunset
As they standby and watch
20 hundred hours
Loyal sheep flock to the slaughter
Ingesting every blood thick second like it was water
My heart bleeds for the soil’s sons and daughters
Walk barefoot feel the earth beneath your feet
We’re caught between a rock and a hard place
Where society judges on looks
Idle minds get maimed after sunset
And the devil is a book
As they merge with the images
That march like soldiers
On an un-awakened earth
Viciously raping virgin minds
That survived land mines
Don’t forget
Idle minds get maimed after sunset
With lethal graphic assault
Urban warriors stay alert
Armed with pads and pens
Explosive poems that reawaken the masses
Our forefathers burned the passes
Defied the powers that be
I be
The monotonous voice
That longs to haunt you
Every time you “click-click”
Quick-quick
Rise from your self induced slumber
Listen to one of the many voices in the wind
Blown over the continent
Like dead ashes over the sea
Remember
Idle minds get maimed after sunset
I could carry on writing
But the sun is setting
On unsuspecting minds
Its getting dark
I can hardly see my lines
The grim reaper is warming up
I’m running out of time
Shit 17hundred hours
And these are the days of our lives.