Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

Lost Effort

 Lost Effort

 

 

1.

 

So many sad and plentiful of nothing

 That matters,

Sad and plentiful, as if stuffing

Children like the rotting carcass of dead animals

Appeases all their needs,

            Too many sad and plentiful

Without knowing the teaching of greed,

Too many lied to in concrete,

Denied every right to be free.

 

            So many youngsters wise only

Of ignorance itself,

            Without knowing the truth that’s

Being kept out of view,

            So many adorned with entanglement

Of mind for the sins of mother and father,

For what was taught didn’t matter,

Didn’t keep you from danger,

But left you exploring their hatred itself.

 

            So many a witness;-

So many - my anger rises like pyres of

Corpses already tortured – haunted by

Voices - a torch by the tainted exhaled and

Berating fuelling hysteria in numbers –

A curse of each mind by bigoted thieves;

                        Where -

                                    Grief; follows light!

 

            Oh how they fumble the Witness,

Torture in infancy each cherub that’s blessed,

Where schooling degrades each little power of love,

Make liars of honest now snuffed.

 

2.

 

            UNICEF,

Have more than a feeling of this,

Know within detail the children

Of whom tales  of abuse go ignored;

Those powerful people, creating instead

Their denial  of the sleeper,

            As the blight scabs each

Child on the lips,

and everything after

1962, hushed while prisoners

In ghettos sing nasty a tune, a plague

Never knowing the truth but in playgrounds;

A pin down on madness for the child

They accuse! 

 

            Annoyance in essence

Enormous for adults, when outwitted by

Children age five,

For each generation grows quicker

And faster,  but time of compassion

Is never placed on their side,

Seen and not heard,

Seen and not heard,

For tiny a human they are,

But teachings of blasphemy continue

                                                The hate,

            And all gone is the inspiration

            From higher a God universe,

Seen and not heard,

Seen and not heard,

Be each clever saint you regress,

And opportunities lost for an age again,

As conformity’s taught by teachers moulding

The pliable,

            Whilst the sending - free intellect to Hell.

 

I came with a warning but it’s gone,

And time has no value for tears,

And the truth has been butchered to continue

                                                A lie,

And now everyone lives within fears,

                                    So delicious your secret,

                                    So lost in your meaning its cause.

 

Michael J Waite 4th July 2011.

Social Observations

◄ Wimborne Road

I Am Woman ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message