They
They
They slime through,
Seeking victims
Placed in their path,
By merest circumstance,
Or enforced rejection
By a society
That will not abide singularity.
Parasites,
They leech misery,
Hopelessness,
They fatten on despair,
Celebrate anguish,
Makes ready the disaster,
For the harvest of heartache.
What greased creations are they?
What has birthed these putrescent?
Where have they oozed from?
They are a culmination,
A climax and completion,
A conclusion and payoff
Of the fostering of greed.
Look to your most swinish,
They smell of ravening,
They reek of craving,
Empty-eyed they are because
There is nothing that can fill
The void they are.
More of everything will never suffice.
They have mucked their way
To the high places,
That they may mire all,
Seeking to soil
Every just thing and soul,
As they have nothing clean of their own,
And are not fed by virtue.
Their filth has dirtied humanity,
Has corrupted joy,
Has perverted laughter.
To starve them,
We feed the hungry,
We home the lost,
We remain humane.
Remain humane –
And save all of us.
All of us.
Cliff Lake 8/10/2024
Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024
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