What is this taste I cannot stand.
Feels as though I’ve been eating sand.
Sick and tired of the same old groove.
About to make me want to move,
Across these oceans to stars unseen.
Better than being upended and branded unclean.
As bitterness carves into the fore.
Want to be able to rest without partaking in gore.
Run along these times of falter.
Upon this globe of denying shelter.
When did ruthless become such a vibe?
All people want is an unhealthy bribe.
To fill coffers that are already full.
Seems to be all elites deem this a sufficient pull.
Sad to know this is the way.
As daylight is lost to an unending mass of grey.
Pick at these stitches.
Fix your scores.
Seldom any judgement.
Buy absolution and merge it with false recourse.
Dance between fear and foe.
Into these warrens hope will go.
Will it ever be seen again?
Question I am unable to answer now or then.
For subjectivism has climbed atop this mast.
What is thrown is only a shadow most vast.
Forgetting what could have been.
No longer will there be a realisation of any dream.
Float amongst rocks and debris.
Count to five then ignore prosperity.
Sold to dogs with malice in their eyes.
They are not real and only a disguise.
Verifying them fills overgrown bellies.
Another soul for the hooded reapers ferries.
While innocent stock continues to dwindle.
Contracts are offered to con all those that are not single.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 