On The First Thoughts Of The Day Poem by Not Long Left

Close the door on the outside world
paranoid tentacles can only reach so far-
Like a dog on a chain.
Warnings used to come to us through burning
beacons, technology has changed all that,
it seems a muder can reach you before it
has even been commited- a minority report.
One can not leave their shell without feeling
exposed, the birds circle above our heads.
We are walking on eggshells, with steel toe
capped boots. I blame the trains, before
them we lived in a blissfull state of ignorance.
We are slowly seeping into our foundations
we are forming fortresses to keep out the
world, in a state of hysteria, wrapping our
kids in denial, these blankets undfold after
the twighlight years, slowly we are becoming
the ornaments that stand in fragile uncertainty
on our shelves. In our little boxed edens
we submerge ourself into the fading embers
of beauty, watering ourselves to an unkown source
hoping for an answer to spring from the soil
and smile like they did in the books our parents
kept of their parents, of their parents lives.