What are we to do?
As the melting faced
Plutocrats
Fade into stutters,
Dizzy with numbers
And ill fed excuses,
All desperate
And carrion crowing.
Watch sports?
Sing for the Queen?
Hunt paedophiles?
Tweet discontentment
And shun LOL’s?
It’s a strange hell
Of sorts,
Caught in the middle
Of a riddle and a rock,
Locked in rhyming
And climbing
Through the crowds,
Short on air,
“It’s unfair!”
We all shout,
“You don’t care!”
And we’re out
Of luck.
But there’s hope.
There’s a crack in the sky
And a guy spinning round,
Parachutes to the ground,
He found it
Somewhere between
The dirt and the stars.
It’s oh so impressive.
If he can do that,
Anything’s possible,
Right?
