An Angry World

I hate phony shows of misspent faith From people rich and above the poor Focused hate for the ones who make Yet always seeming to want more Helpless despair as I hear the news Of another group saving some whales While every day little children die ‘cause there’s no one to unload the bales A critical eye cast to our leader Who welcomes the criminal and cast-out While huddled alone in a cardboard box A young man views Christmas with doubt Violent shakings of the unstable ground From the bombings that rumble on Viscous bolts of tax-payer missiles Striking ground before the dawn Whistling winds from the bullets above Such violence inflicted upon the ground These are but simple, symbolic signs to me Of the rage I feel from all around