Noon.

Hold down your dreams.
Do not let them fly.
All I hear are screams.
From all whose dreams have died.
We live for the paper.
We kill for the gold.
We destroy what is meant to save us.
Just to get a selfie with a hashtag in bold.
New age poetry sounds monotonous.
Authenticity is left to men who con.
Where old vices are now seen glorious.
Honesty is a cloth torn.
Just to get likes from faceless people.
All enslaved.
And what I fail to see right through.
Is that I too I'm a slave.

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