The Sickness of Irony
Blood on the currency.
Mercury illuminates the contempt
Of the industrious;
Must the complacent be
So retrograde to displace
The many in favour of the few?
Why are we not at war already;
The third world must know the spill of goods
Is a schism;
The Behest of Africa at the table in
is to ignore the wounds carved upon
the world still unfelt by the unfeeling
or unknowing till this day will remain
scattered like ashes upon our corpses
to know that we did some, little
or nothing -
Freedom must be an unfinished business
In a world bursting at the seems
With famine, misery and terror at the behest of
The family, miserly and territorial;
What heart can ignore such horrors
Is perhaps a beauteous, bountiful and loving heart;
But not a whole heart...
Never mind the mind,
It didn't know itself then,
Why should it know itself now?