Orwell’s ’84: Miniluv and Miniplenty

Don’t look back…
Might not like what you sought, of
The existence of a place
In the future, but never far off
Where you can be considered guilty
Before the crime was ever thought of
No need for real charges
To ever be brought up

Caught up in the hocus pocus
Totally unaware of lost focus
Oblivious to the seriousness
And sin in this…
Plus, a wickedness
Of the fiercest appearances
Making even the most stable
of peoples delirious

No one with a conscience
Dares come near to this
Vision succumbs to a dreariness
Beams from the Telescreen
Shoot out streams of data
Can’t avoid the light
Even with Sting,
In the rafters

Laughter from unknown origins
With a pain, you groan
Sending shivers
Feeling numb, in a zone
Creative minds may find a way
To evade the traps
That have them wrapped tightly
With the pain of a slap

Gaps in the memory
Of my history is missing me
Looking back on the past
Relapse… blissfully,
wistfully thinking back
On that time of innocence
Childhood, when it was simple
Simply isn’t this

Isn’t it pointless though
For we to reminisce?
Over inanimate objects
Life, full of petty shit
Over chocolate rations
And out-of-date fashions
Once, we were allowed
To express our passions

When violence didn’t outline
The base of one’s actions
Where we lived for today
Didn’t need past rehashing
Mastering the tongue
Of Doublespeak
Thought Crimes aren’t revealed
Remain sealed, don’t peek

Even in your dreams
One dares not speak
As the conscience screams
From the mouth, not a peep
Deep in the darkness
As their eyes watch us
They got us… *poof*
Disappear, like star dust


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s