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…?
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