They

By Cliff Lake

 

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

Location: Wichita, KS, USA

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