Email Poem

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Poem

“It” defies the fabric we hold dear—
a predator of language, carving loopholes for the rich.
No filter. No trust. A shark in a stagnant lagoon,
circling the wreckage of thought.

“Its” justice is a ledger, not a scale,
a settlement for silence, a nation unraveled.
We obey, bound to “its” decree,
as “it” strips the backbone from the body of this land.

None will be spared “its” tread.
Powder dusts the glass—fragile, waiting to shatter.
They call “it” redundancy unity,
so you can rest your head,
counting pain like sheep in the dark.

We groan. We resist.
But the mind is a prisoner, chasing a freedom
that fades like a mirage in the heat.
The window is cracked, fractured with reflection,
the corporate jungle bleeding into our veins.

Reliance on a dealer of lies sets the trap,
an evening shadow stretching over a stage
of copper-stained deception.

A final act—
the lights dim, the curtain falls, the stage is empty…

Yet "it" remains. Watching. Waiting. Smiling.

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