those reckless haves
those feckless have-nots
stark clouds without rain
marked by subject for our perusal
on the other objective hand
all our prideful gain
speaking about atmospheric approval
so many empty spheres and bare shelves
heretics and political removal
society's emetic disapproval
down at the reflective seashore
defective waves roll in
washing over receptive hands
like trackless homelessness
so many lost and forgotten
macroscopic grains of sand
over time so much more
scrutinized under vain microscopes
this disingenuous rutting season
mountainous storms we find ourselves in
just how much mucked up grit
can a fucked up world withstand
gritty narrow strips and gutless alleys
so very few infected places
not hardened by seriousness
shredded by invisible glass shards
glitter in deep divisional ruts
mismatched paths and defective aisles
all these unpardonable trials
gardens full of hidden landmines
littering every person's street and distant land
those rotten indiscrete peaches
lying bitter in the blazing sun
how far can tricksters
ever lend a helpful hand
does compassion even truly reach us
so called love somehow truly teach us
surrounded by so much haste
so much being such a pitiful waste
those good things we've lost
our angry human palette
this fiery joyless hunger
still those colourful things we've won
painted by a bristle brush
confusion relatively obtuse
obstruction with a flush of talent
often at such a horrible cost
even when we finally realize
just what and all we've done
ripping the sky and life to the very core
should we still duly serialize
history with its deranged stories
what more can we try to do
gripped by cruel reality
all those haves and have-nots
most scorched if not tortured
life administered with gore and terror
rife admonishment with a brutal sum
it seems there are some of us
both haves and have-nots
that find no critical error
ignoring all the vanity and pain
still knowing exactly what they've done

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