Dystopian Nightmares

Born under black skies, with no expectations,
We crawl through our paralyzing pantomime of life, awaiting
 resurrection, the great unwashed seethe, in quiet 
desperation we accept our condition fatally, is this the 
present? can we call this life? and for the 
future...utopian, dystopian, or death? thirty million 
voices, slogging through the undergrowth, as islands in 
prosperity, they fuel it with their blood, in total 
separation, they scavenge for their daily bread forgotten 
citizens, a class in themselves lost at sea, is this the 
present? can we call this life? and for the 
future...utopian, dystopian, or death? what have they 
worked for ...these dreams in the gutter, unspent? desire 
traded for dearth, and hope for destitution? as eaters and 
eaten break bread, they learn their trades in time, but the
 teacher must be taught just as well, and as such this 
tragedy unfolds...