Ready, Aim, Fire
I’m mad as H E Double Hockey Sticks, flummoxed, and more than a little scared
Kids are being shot in their own back yards, makes me sick to my stomach
Mommas and daddies taken in handcuffs for hurting their own, they think it’ their right
To do whatever they want when under watchful eyes that once cared, hands are tied down, lost cases, lost causes, too much care, too much stress, no fight left.
Wives and husbands look to find love and care in other places
Home is not sacred anymore;
We live and love in a fractured fairy-tale, chasing a paradise just out of our outstretched palm
Starving, desperate, we cling to a lie, lies taste better as no truth satisfies us anymore,
A homeless veteran panhandling in the middle of the road,
begging for a ready- made balm for his aching mind, heart, body or maybe just a meal or maybe he’s really looking for,
Begging for handouts or just someone to share his burden, help him carry his load.
Children abused, starved, locked up and left all alone, just wishing for someone to love them and a place to call home.
Funding cut, money spent on who know what? Maybe worthless items, warrior-less, expensive fights behind closed doors, soldiers without honor working for big ugly toads who wield a lot of power
Dictators, instigator, we are at war with ourselves with no answers in sight, as our children suffer, but to what end?
As our world loses ground and we plummet into godless, lawlessness, avarice, greed, to a cataclysmic gaping maw of despair from which there is no release
Losing sleep, losing rights, while the rich get richer, the classes get more masses as people lose sight of hope, giving up, losing the ability to cope with the treacherous quicksand
Vices drive, devices thrive, screen instead of loved ones faces ,
Disconnected, disaffected, lost generation of drones are we
We are just too bind to see.
Detriment and despair coat the tongues of the inflicted, rejected, like a bad disease with no cure
This is a wake-up call we keep missing, the state of the world keeps getting darker, danker, more rancid, more ranker.
Someone needs to find their voice, make it loud, proud, and say we’ve had enough of this mess.
I’m sad, mad, flummoxed and more than a little scared, but I am far from unprepared to fight the hatred, the plague of discontented disinterest for each other
I’m tired of the lost not being counted as the body count rises and they become just another statistic, we need a jolt from our narcissistic view, a clearer picture, realistic
If we can’t stop, won’t stop, it will be to our own detriment and slow demise of a disease that has no name.
We can still save some, stave off the influx of despair
We need to start with just one voice, powerful enough to say “STOP! I’m mad as H E double Hockey Sticks, the state of this world makes me sick to my stomach”
We need to have more people get mad, sad, a little scared, a little flummoxed.
Paradise is not lost completely as long as there are those who still care.
Copyright © Michelle Morningstar | Year Posted 2017
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