The trouble with Poetry

For you know it cannot be,There are wishes that remain,An Impossibility.Oh, I hate that very word,That cuts you away from me,As the day begins to bleed,Softly, sadly, silently,But as fragile butterflies,Drowning in Life’s chilling Sea,You and I although we try,Cannot change our Destiny!

Swallowed byThe devil’s call?By human hypocrisyAnd unlimited greedOf which,We are guiltyAll!Since the very beginningGreed and liesHave soiled it all,Losing ParadiseWas not enoughNow also, the devilIs in us,We can’t seemTo snuff out bad stuff,Living off ofLies and bluff,Trust no one,Even though,Living alone,Is ruff!Better alone,Than livingAs a lying louse.

Why is manThe only animalThat keeps hittingHis head, againstThe same wall?Goodness, fakesAnd hardly everLearns,From his Mistakes?

Writing can become,A deadly deviceFor Some.

Verses,Feelings, even morePut the two togetherWith some lovingAnd Life will beMuch better than before.

Announcing the Shamedom,Of weirdoes and loons,Red is his color,The color of blood,Expect nothing good,From this cowardly flood.No standards are upheld,No values remain,‘Destruction of morals’Is the name of the game.The 21st century,I’m ashamed to be part,Of a social revolution,That has lost all its heart.I’m ashamed to be living,In a social, dark swamp,Where ‘Anything Goes’,And all ‘leaders’…