Words From Reality

I just took a moment from my converse with the clouds, the elite of the sky To relate the with the lay, at my feet To ascertain the state of things Oh mortal! How goes thy fate this late? What fills thy weight with spite? Ah, I see It’s in the scenes in the sea It’s in the kills for the feast It’s in the beat of defeat Survival, my fourth cousin Seems to claim your cause The blood I desire not. Love, its antidote Dwell scarce in the elements The spirits of the late Can testify to the fact That tact, which we lack Is the key to the earth Is the seat of the prize Nature has been good to you Still, you squabble over its seeds Money, the fuel of existence Spills the seed of deceit In the midst of your fist. You become impaired You deviate from plan For utopia or its twin. I’m not an angel Nor am I your conscience I’m called reality And, I’m having a fit.