Pity this

Pity this

Despite ourselves

We breathe

It is easy to take it away

Too easy, some might say

Serpents

With venom

Constrictors who squeeze

The blood

Out of a stone

Feed the bodies

To the pigs

Pretending they own

A country

As if anybody does

When nothing is forever

But the past

Is as close

As far away can get

Wrap me up

In cotton wool

I am a delicate

Membrane

A silken thread

A silent kiss

We are many

The floating voter

The ducks that swim

The achievable dream

The running man

We are all and nothing

More than we ever were

Pity this

It is a mystery

Despite all this

Chicanery

Irreverence and skullduggery,

That we are

In any way

Even partially

Significant, or

Dare I say it

Wholly beneficial.