There are too many people

There are too many people

With smiles,

That never reach the eyes

A death’s head

Staring at the world

Fat mouths, stuffed with hate

Tumbling out

Like an eruption of ectoplasm.

Hungry Bugs swarm

We are diseased.

The world is on the edge

Teetering

Prometheus could

Not be bothered.

His sorry-arsed apology

Rings hollow.

All the President's men

Were turned to stone

The scribes turfed out

Into the street

A feeding frenzy

For the money lenders.

Corporation dust carts

Would sweep them up

If they could find a driver.

The skies are bright

With funeral pires

There is poverty in abundance

Too little understanding

Writ large.

In simple language

We are all tipped into a bin

Scoured out

From the outside in

Left for dead.

Nobody is human

Unless they are called

So to be.

It is written

In mirrored glass

Smashed onto the rocks

Taken to task

By the masters of war.

As the scarecrow

With the turnip head

And an orange

In his mouth

Leaves by the back door

To avoid a reckoning

And the pain

Of being found out.