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Poem
I came upon a tribe one day
in a land not far away
where everyone gets what they need
from juices of an orange seed

Some who drank the juice had died
and so the tribe felt satisfied
that they had weeded out the weak
with the help of orange seed

Some fell asleep the whole day long
for orange juice was very strong
and never felt an ounce of pain
with not a care to cross the brain

But others would feel more awake
with every little drop they’d take
They’d run and dance and twitch and shake
and never need to take a break

Still others would get sick and green
like a flu they’d never seen
The only really certain cure
was “Never touch the juice no more”

For some, the drug would change their mood
to dumb and brutal, cruel and rude
But even those would find their use
in the tribe of orange juice

Of course, a few got very wise
had visions right before their eyes
Surely, God chose them to lead
with blessings from the orange seed

So anyone made dull and tired
were rounded up and all required
to work all day or face the noose
and never touch the orange juice

But those the seed would energize
were thereby made to supervise
the work so tedious and tough
while sipping on the orange stuff

And those for whom the seed caused harm,
were duly trained to run the farm
All day to sneeze and cough  non-stop
yet trusted with the precious crop

And anyone turned cruel, it’s true
got plenty of the orange brew
you could guess what jobs they do
and who they really answer to

Not leaders who hallucinate
that everything is going great
nor all the rest who get their dose
(except the ones that need it most)

Not any man or myth or god
nor any beast of sea or sod
but just a noxious little weed
with a toxic little orange seed

There may be some as I suspect
for whom the seed has no effect
I doubt that they’re allowed to stay
they wouldn’t want to anyway
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