Tuesday, 5 November 2013

1 Poem by Nathan J.D.L. Rowark

Insanity Revival

So the sensible man is a relic past of the go-betweens of financial fast;
As the money tide falls short of shore to the little man for a banker’s whore;
And the funding hand, Sahara plain, in this place gone mad, as I’m not to blame
For squandered pound they fluttered free from their grubby fist for champagne she.

Unlaced her bodice beneath her blouse as the markets fell in their Nero house;
For the wife and child upon your street to husband find, then shotgun greet.
How much the blood runs liquid loose for richest men to fatten goose,
While around the tables at misery's place they follow own prayer when saving grace.

In sleep aloof they hear the cries of hungry souls that they despise.
A use is found for those by day, yet at night their candle is blown away
On mushroom cloud of hot air balloon that floats above to venture soon
To all the places you've never seen, and for you is all but a night time's dream.

And this is how it came to pass, that in envy green of a greener farce,
The note on which adorns a race became much more than the bearer’s face.
So now you’ll have to pucker up, and to your lips, their liposuction butt
Will rest on chair of those below who cannot rise up in madness's show.

But now the doc has made me silly, says my way is a dallied dilly;
The powers that be can easy rest, as the words of the unhinged are unhinged at best.
Yet I find the way the world is fouled, has axis tipped, and I’m mad endowed,
To look beyond the trappings laid by those who still think a flat earth stayed.

No comments:

Post a comment