Colour me deeply in high tension blue,

like the power lines that hang over you,

show the charred remnants of fleshy pink

which hint at what washed away in the sink.

 

Days of weeks and weeks of days pass by,

all I can do is cling on until I cease to cry,

knowing that pain is a way of life for too many,

lost souls all searching for love - is there any?

 

Take the path of least resistance just to survive,

fewer and fewer have any notion of how to contrive,

a way to earn even though they may possess many a skill,

for slippery serpents take far too much and leave you ill.

 

What manage meant at one time long ago who can say,

suffice it to tell things are changing from logic every day,

obfuscation is the way the rules are warped to deceive every eye,

taking more from you in many small steps until bled rust red dry…

 

Government by gross deceit is the fashion in pseudo democracies,

what signs of truth are to be found when you’re forced to your knees,

better off in cardboard boxes on the street than with bricks upon your back,

soon there’ll be a national health service from slot machines at the race track.

 

When the endless greed of plot-it-icians and their cronies in board rooms glows

with the heat of our bodies stoking the fires in their furtive mind game shows,

will there be any middle classes left to form a barrier between obscene and poor,

or will the entire system have crumbled to dust like Romans well past any cure?

 

Inaction is the ally of the despicable whose plots are thickening so fast,

democracy is almost terminally sick so take a stand now before it’s past,

any last hope of redemption as fascists rise again across many a land,

is it too much to hope that there might be enough awake to understand?

 

©Rhumour

February 8th 2015