Camouflage

As I don the garbs of conformation,
I feel as though I am clothing myself in hypocritical affirmation.
Camouflage is fitting, for so it does to my creative spirit,
Hides all individualism, I can hardly bare it
I stare forward with steel eyes, body rigid as a plank,
This robotic attitude I do despise
The orders are barked and together we march,
Our heads turning neither to the left nor the right,
We follow command all day and all night,
No shades of gray, only black and white.
The uniform sound where boot meets ground,
Greets my ears, like finger nails greet a chalkboard,
But inside, my screams I must hoard.
This sterility kills my minds imaginative fertility,
Burning up any pre-formed visions of independence,
Will I ever find a path of transcendence?
Until I do I will continue to march in the same stoic formation,
Into the sunset, the sunset of a once great nation.