Broken Are The Wits Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Left broken are the wits.
Observed on city streets,
As if to live just to drift.
Yearning to get from life and quick,
Much more to believe...
They were born to be served.

Some living without having a single concern.
And others can sit to occupy a seat.
Yet leave a classroom without a lesson to learn.
Or take away anything,
From this experience that sticks.
As if they have been granted,
A life to survive without a wit to exist.

Left broken are the wits.
Observed on city streets,
As if to live just to drift.
Yearning to get from life and quick,
Much more from it to believe...
Permission has been given,
To have their minds from them leave.

In their minds to serve it,
Is no patience or discipline.
With a willingness to correct mistakes.
To comprehend,
This is what it takes to make...
Any forward steps made needed to place.

No light can shine to brighten,
One unaccustomed to turn on a mind.
Leaving behind fantasies to find.
Coming momentarily,
To satisfy daydreams done.
Coming to fade away not to stay,
Not even minutes each time.

No light can ignite remaining to excite,
Anyone without concern.
Believing a yearning will be served,
An appetite wished to get...
Without thirsting to earn it first,
Day and night.

Left broken are the wits.
Disconnected but with kept wishes.
Observed on city streets,
As if to live just to drift.
Yearning to get from life and quick,
Much more to believe a deserving is served.
And handed from others,
A fantasized life.
One wants and likes that is televised.
Not to realize what is advertised,
Has been marketed by others...
Living with a commitment to fiction.
Hoping many minds have been evicted to addict.