The Supreme is so hard to find: A poem

I’ve lost so much, I’ve lost count

of the things I don’t have any more

I rarely cry, though I wish I could die

For I know the world is beset by a lie

I am a person of faculties, not much desire

Nobody in his right mind would call me insane fire

My life has been so tough; I didn’t share my pain

And, in the soul-slaughter, it just seemed in vain

The right to yourself is no right any more

Democracy is an untruth; it doesn’t look good

And my life, that is pure, has been soiled

by the imposed crude. I have understood

that vested powers pretend to be prude(nt)

And I am thinking at the backs of my mind

that the Supreme Being, I believed would rescue me, is so hard to find