Thu, 03/24/2016 - 17:49 -- Idlprs

This room is full of delicacies want for consumption.
It is world renown and with much success with coin.
The scent attracts all and the sights they should please...
But a problem not yet understood is revealed.

It is with-in this place that minds wander when they should be alert.
There are eyes that see dreams when they should be wake.
Processors, taste buds, that cannot parse.

Their food is growing cold.

There is a confused chef
With a well enlightened tongue
Has tasted many a delight and desire
To share with them their experience.

Of course... Most that hear it listen.

They are interested, but do not understand.

Perhaps if it were fancily transcribed...
Maybe if it were rearranged for the eyes...
Attempted as it should be.

Why do their expressions only grow dull?

When inquired that what often renders another expressionless...
This tongue is questioned for its own taste.
It is not difficult.
Quite simple really; intuitive!

There is no sweetness here...
Not in the dreamer's mouth.
Did that which was sweet become sour?

No, in fact...
It lacked the seasoning
The chef had experienced
From the first.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country


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