A voice cried 'Sleep no more!'
So little time, before the dawn
of helplessness is drawn
across our withered lawn of hope.
Wide-eyed but blind, we grope
the darkness for an opening glint
of grace, the merest hint
of honour in the flint-locked heart
of privilege. We start
to blend excuses, partly through
our latent goodness. Who
can countenance the true extent,
the reeking sacrament
of evil, reinvented by
the shitterati? Why
dissemble? Liars all,
they'll engineer the fall
of empires to forestall their own
exposure. They have grown
to hate us all. Their only aim –
perpetuate the same
impunity, reclaim the power
that crumbles by the hour
as truth reveals their towering guilt.
Till, skewered to the hilt,
they writhe, they squirm, they wilt and pray
for light to skulk away
so they can holiday again.
No comments:
Post a Comment