Poets
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Powerful men are not great thinkers, Very few are philosophic in mind Many got a break over a period of time, Where something they sold or made Was popular in the world of trade, Or some were born into money Or worked themselves up the corporate ladder, Whichever way they earned money It was not
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Fifteen people killed on a beach It’s such a terrible crime, Perpetrated against those who support, in this time, Genocide and ethnic and cultural cleansing, Fifteen deaths set against hundreds of thousands Ninety thousand of which are children, And as the media reports on it constantly I wonder where the reports are of those kids
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Aching bones Tired mind, Muscles hurting From all this working, Stressful moments Increase the strain, Every movement Causes me pain Never realising The price of age, From physical labour From back in the day, Which catches up With us when we are older, We feel less strong and bolder On those days which are colder.
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The house is on fire And the garden is dead, But the lies you are fed Means you think everything is good, And nothing is going as it should But you accept this without question, With a closed mind and blank expression, As if they are the ventriloquist And you are just their dummy, Hoping
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I see no change Because when I look at you, All I see is someone compliant To everything that others do, Even if all so wrong Even if you know that’s true, You won’t go against the grain And I find that so insane, By stepping out of line Doesn’t make you a bad person,
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The corporate types are psychopathic They do not care and are so reactive, We speak out and they get asymptomatic To the brutal ways they act and behave, Ice is all that runs through their veins The thoughts they think are mostly insane, Cold eyes, gnarled features, aggressive tones They live within the hateful discriminatory
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Thinking back at my younger years The laughs, the drinks, the pubs, no fear, The recklessness the carefree times All of this remembrance comes to mind, And how now, I miss my youthfulness My freedom and care freeness, Those days were joyous and my friends were bountiful, Now all gone we bid farewell, adieu, Rarely
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I am so bored with being poor As powerful people waste money on war, While I fight to keep the wolf from my door Especially when the wars have no cause, Except to make even the elites richer That doesn’t fit with me, that picture, We could all be well lot’s off if they shared,
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We’ve found out everything we knew That the elites are a cult exploring me and you, Meeting up on islands doing whatever they do Laughing and playing and committing abuse, While we slave as the producers of wealth Working for much less and under so much stress, Eating shit not the finest things that effects
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Wrongness resides in the unconscious minds of corrupt beings, And not in the minds of those consciously aware and who reside in goodness, Like all good things something’s can got rotten and are picked out and caste aside, But with mankind that which is rotten is held in high esteem and empowered, This is our
fauxcroft 