If only the purpled clouds could tell
that the choked artichokes aren’t well
How we’d read the writing in the sky
that it may be nigh for good blood to die
The seas are mighty, but their tides
cannot wash off the grime in our insides
We think it’s silk, but our threads are a web
for the spider to take spirit to its death
The air of innocence is cloaked in corruption’s smog
Honesty’s forest has been cleared into advocacy’s logs
Bigotry is the foundation of high-rises that we share
Carcinogens have waged war on morality’s footwear
But can we be brave and the journey take
from coast to coast, for sunshine’s sake?
And put the food of integrity in the bake
And let posterity to a fine breakfast awake
magic with words. pure genius Monte
LikeLike