Are they Poetry’s goal?
To protect our fragile, sanity.
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Not only is the World crazy,
And the Computer, lazy,Won’t tell us what to do!
What tremendous satisfaction,
It can lift up your spirits,And forever, in you sing.
Fun time is,
How we are still standing as a Nation,When we have candidates like Hillary,That are political abominations,But it really is No fun to see,How decadent and in decline we are,Crumbling away as a Nation,When at one time,Not even the stars seemed too far.
I wish it would snow,
As much as I,I wish I could go,Somewhere that would satisfy,The vital hunger,That’s always by my side,And makes me wonder,What makes me tic inside,For, I’m not a clockFor that matter, always late,But the one thing I know,Is that in me, thoughThere’s more love,Than there is hate.
Today,
Even in Poetry,Some things when saidShould not be said,So vile, they really be,And still, are daredTo be called by some,Modern poetry.We’re living in a quicksand world,Where there is no respect,Where foolishly,We think we’re free,To write and say, no matter what,Then call it, poetry
World of Idiots a la Carte,
Fooling others is their ‘art’,Wish them all a good depart,Jail is always a good start.