Prose into Poetry

Turning great works of literature into poety by DiVerse.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

4891
- after 1984, by George Orwell

Things of green and darkest blue
tumble down in snow white fields.

Against the window
touching freedom.

In a sea of grass, waves form
as you look back.

Copies of words eat the truth
trapped in fear and solitude.

Transmitted thoughts policed by unity
ministered through the banner of truth.

We are ordered, completed by torture
screaming out the name of it.

Our age, abolished manipulated trust of the absolute
of our brother, enormously small.

Each moon shadows our path, like it's watching us
and there’s a boot stamping onto our faces.

Robert Kennedy



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