Two-Thousand-7-Teen

Instead of shaking my head, biting my lip or waving my fist at this crazy thing we call humanity, I’ve chosen to quietly write a poem. My intention isn’t to offend, but if it does, please contemplate this question: Isn’t it better to express one’s disillusion creatively than…?

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Two-Thousand-7-Teen – – – – – – –

Angel hearts once made of gold

have turned to green, allergic mold

Acts of selfless charity

have turned to selfish memes of “me”

More and more the trumpet plays

More and more Lord Visa pays

Buying “bliss” at Jezebar

where clients hiss and “students” star

Will false idols lose their praise?

arousing cattle from their graze

Seers will boast, “most certainly”

and if they’re wrong, please don’t yell at me

 

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