I’ll speak now if speaking is permitted
I’ll be specific how to fail at commitment,
How to fake paralytic, unworthy of minutes,
To be a specimen, not even babies would mimic.
To have this world by the pair and be fully aware,
It was chock full of judgment and blunt disrepair,
To then brush the dirt off like another’s despair
unaware of becoming a puppet of warfare.
Up the rungs in college debating that warfare,
forsaking that scathing part of youth to prepare
With fake friends as fanfare to become debonair,
And to maintain it became the new love affair
With these maneuverings of a millionaire
As one digs and toils in social welfare
Then rebukes all the empathy and removes all cares,
relapsing to disenchanted and now cavalier
With social justice as a modern cross to bear,
In the snowflake mindset, where weaknesses are shared
To syncretize new schemes like castles in the air
Attack as the entitled, blithe and unprepared
While the rest of us suspired, tired and threadbare
Tired of helping those entitled, and neglecting our own square
As elation was limited unless they all got their share,
we chastised ourselves so those morons could be spared
They say that all deserve a shot at the king’s chair,
That those who don’t agree, well, outsiders beware
But if you didn’t earn your keep, didn’t shed those tears,
Think of being entitled, then you have greatly erred.
In my weakest of days, I can’t fathom this here,
On this side of ignorance and the good fight elsewhere
But they roped so many in with these false prayers
But there is no reason for these iniquities to be shared.
Like pushing numbers in colored suits like solitaire,
To making claims like some self-righteous doctrinaire
Entitlement to impute, with well-wishing stares,
And in their acute pursuit to removing prayers,
With that ill repute did they overshoot the stairs?
Did they get that no one cared about those broken and bare.
With those white lies they obscured how this world was unfair,
and it could rob everyone from holding the king’s chair
In today’s world we see how hard work is scarce and rare
Like a hall full of people with someone who cares,
How pride was a nomenclature for us to be scared,
And though the mind was working, it was all still ensnared.
In declaration it utters of those who are impaired
Those individuals we know who were beyond our repair,
How they breathe in checkmarks of sharp liquid air,
But did they meet the criteria, was everything there?
Uneducated they were, but no one really cared,
Unqualified hopefuls at best, but no matter here,
Some believed they deserved it, like floating midair,
to be in that echelon where execs hold their prayers.
But they were shunned as such, and it was plainly declared
That there was no place in here for them or their kind here
It was not they were brown skinned, or white skinned, or fair,
color was not the burden, their skills wouldn’t compare.
So they scorned us as skeptics, called us pathetic,
Said it was our methods, why they were rejected,
not that they had failed at realizing our ethics
or their lack of common sense was really authentic
No, it’s not that they used the system to gain clout,
Or how leaving the room breathless for them didn’t sprout
But they kept on their pouting, screaming and shouting
Apropos, what gives them the right to act out?
Adults will not condone their impetuous mouth
But with a new mirror and face they had to break out,
with a discourse on discourse to try and reach out
and when will the pressure be enough for them to back out?
You know, that even rats star in this backwards place,
And the devil lived like a worldly king embraced
With people like their kind in this world they can unlace
Undo the blood, sweat and tears that can’t be replaced.
To live evil is backwards, a word, palindromic,
Though the world has not appeared as though monochromic
in schemes, and in darkness, aphonics, and chthonic,
Where thoughts get no help from these goddamn mnemonics
Like the past was erased, effaced from existence,
all the things we have cultured, are gone with ambitions
and our existence today is unreservedly smitten,
By one grave misjudgment of omitting persistence
I speak of this sickness because I am a critic.
Where people have fallen as victims to gimmicks
I know of confliction where all criers are victims,
And that there my friends, is no normal depiction
I know of resisting existing conditions,
How logic could state of these sad premonitions
But we are in need of persistence, insistence
So the notion of hard work can gain us consistence
Can we throw out petitions for futile resistance,
because if living continues to live on as vicious,
And we here still play that cog in the system,
Then my friend and their friends, we are not coexisting.
If only we could forget about all those commercials
About all this safe space and about being servile
Then maybe our circuits could then have a purpose
And partake in the rewriting of hardworking journals
Until we stop razing the grain like hessian flies,
And start respecting one another as still dignified
If only the two coalitions themselves could comply
we could wave to this hellhole an old-fashioned goodbye
Together in ambitions we must clarify
We must work towards a goal that cannot be denied
Removing politics from pulpits to then rectify
And defy all the odds and make the heart mollified
To me there is no doubt if we open the floodgates,
We’ll fix all the traffic on the routes every day.
In the car crashes and doubts, with our lives on display,
We must figure it out or try to relate.
With that old adage at hand of earning your keep
It must be a practice that everyone steeps
With immersion into ethics increasingly deep
So that even the sheep will work hard in our sleep
And Snowflakes will fall, while thinking they’re unique,
Eventually they melt into something so bleak
Often not remembered for their special mystique
But for the repugnant havoc their effects often wreak
Just realize when they speak, and they always speak
That their soul is still tainted and it may need a tweak
That there at the crossroads, the picked path was weak,
and their work ethic is nothing more than some sad tongue and cheek.
They talk a good game but when put to the fire
It’s only a matter of time until they’re forced to retire
And there in the soil amidst all the mire,
Is a puddle of snowflakes dissolved and expired.