Rattled bones said start the fire
Its fulgent flare makes fate retire.
Cigarette smoke and foul dictation;
We hallow ignoble delegation.
Wearing italian velvet standing
On a
Worn out Persian rug.
I arrived with a vendetta;
I was picayune as a bug.
Cupidity has fitted me
With nothing in return.
I always crave the lessons,
But I guess I seldom learn.
Pray thee sooth me was a ruse
O' fictitious one;
We plant so many plastic trees,
We're blocking out the sun.
Nescient, and money spent;
No avuncular affection.
Blessings kiss horizons on
The wrong side of perfection.
And once you catch the glimpse of
Why we're fed into the ground.
The Reaper sings our swan song and
We die without a sound.
©hobbez
H