Thursday, September 25, 2014


There is no crime in a pretty green world
Victims deserve their plight as if it's fate
And hearts broken by monsters' evil minds
Can be ignored or urged to wipe the slate.

It seems we lurched from black and white and truth
To mind moving pictures and blurred visions,
Traded our righteous rage for urbane doubts
And took ourselves out of all decisions.

The certain few are bound to call our bluff,
Powered by prophets of fruit gone rotten,
As we die in our hapless lack of trust,
Severed heads symbolise faith forgotten.

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