I go about town thinking with my feet,
ashes cake on my brows from the murderous heat.
I see glaring talents wasting like our black gold,
men of substance living in garrets abandoned in the cold.
Myriad hopes flounder in a sea of political words,
brigands now play with many souls like heathen gods.
Daily bread is bought with blood, sweat and tears,
the masses shuffle in shackles of oppression and fear.
Many now wake to curse this sturbborn breath,
tearful joy and laughter are scarce on God's good earth.
Death looks easier than this indebting chains of sorrow,
shameful yesterday murders expectations of tomorrow.
Weary sights cease to behold the wonder of the bees,
the beautiful dancing of tingled shivering trees.
Fame and fortune seldom favours a gifted one,
many are opting out and many are now gone.
I retire from my thinking with one last stepping thought,
the priceless nuggets of life can never be bought.
Hope shyly lingers for those who still believe,
soon we who still hope will finally cease to grieve.