Followers

                         Followers in their minds

        in their actions and investments 

Followers of the worldly drifts

Followers of each other

     In a constant circle

     Centered around themselves

                      They follow each other

                              And what is popular

                                  They think it makes them important

                  they think the latest trends make them mean something

                            And yet they get no where

                         Except where they started

                       And with nothing

 Except gain of worldly uselessness

That they are tricked to believe mean happiness

Followers

In their worldly drifts 

But no

There are some

Not many, but few

One in particular

That don’t follow

one that doesn’t drift in circles of popular opinion and possession

One that is confident

Independent

One unlike the rest

One who knows who she is

They scoff at her

For she is hurt

They ignore her downcast her

For she is silent in her agony

Her pain intangible, yet merciless they know

Is not odd they laugh at her

They scoff and mock at her agony

Her pain is their delight

Her difference their obsession

Their victim 

Is not odd, again I say, that they find her pain humorous

That they find her sorrow amusing

Is it not odd, those facts, that they are amused in her agony

When they gave it to her so carelessly

So freely bestowed it upon her with force enough to stifle

is it not odd, they laugh, at the results of their own emptiness of mind and spirit 

And dignity

The dignity she had

The dignity they lacked

The dignity that they killed.