Their Abhorrence of Love

 

A sub-saharan heat quickens the oil,

And it’s only time, just time frivolous with lives

That live running along roads of shame,

But, the shame should not manifest itself,

Nor should it be carried like clocks to hasten a stop!

 

Young have nowhere - running

Like prey before a cull,

And the null is the life that could have been

But before sixteen,

Tempest winds take all they never had

And the saddened, total despair,

Is that the oil made of loves sweet chapters

Takes the woman and child,

The child conceived only to die

Before their book is written,

And it’s Christmas in the West

Where all is taken liberally for granted

But not they, not they as they pray

In ranks and columns of columns.

 

The glory of man,

Is but a fleeting of memories

For all are gone,

And the madness,

The insanity that poses so

Many carriages of war,

Need not happen now -

The battleground be labour wards

And viral controls;

For if the malevolence gets its wish,

The wars we heal will be to no avail,

As death starts formally with a kiss.

 

                I am beset with insane

Accusations as to the Holy Grace of power,

For if we are to be here for more

Than just our pubescent years;

More than the throwing of the gun,

Why kill us all through love?

 

Michael J Waite 10^th December 2011.