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  • Writer's pictureAutumn Isobel Smith


What is there ahead?

I see naught but smoke and ash

Where a kingdom once stood.

Young, the future beckoned

And in triumph, I rushed to meet it,

Eager to come into my own,

A willing cog in a vast machine.

They told me I was special.

They told the others too.

But the mirage has faded.

They said I was master of my fate,

That the Dream was mine to inherit.

Obey, serve, toil, and it shall be so.

We were all deceived.

Their lies were roses to my eyes

But now there are only thorns.

Briars and burrs,

Bleeding me dry one droplet at a time.

When I look to the others I see my pain

Haunting their weary faces.

We were all deceived.

Where is the Dream we were promised?

This is not it.

I have torn the roses from my vision.

The thorns revealed the truth.

Turmoil, grief, and fear are all I can see.

Those splashes of sunlight so rarely appear

And are never enough to sustain me.

The machine churns onward

Because we have little choice.

Bloated shadows above lash all defiance

Fear reigns supreme, devouring peace.

Living is a privilege for those above

While we fight for scraps to survive.

We were all deceived.

There is nothing guiding me forward

No light at the end of the tunnel

No shelter from the torrents

Hope dwindles and flickers out

A candle within a maelstrom

Those before have failed us

We were all deceived.

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