CLUMSY LAMENT

I wish I could spin a silky sonnet

That might mitigate the wrath of a murderous multitude

Intent on stoning the stained-glass windows

That grant sorry souls dappled soft light in their solitude.

At its rock-hard heart there are no fissures of forgiveness

In idolatry masking all memories of immateriality.

Its disciples paint by numbers enthroned as currency,

And live by the barbarian benchmarks of bestiality.

Leaders claim to see so much in the nil of nothing

That they can discuss its implications all day long;

And yet they’re blind even to the most obvious truth,

So even the idiotic inept are never ever wrong.