The golden lips of stimulation
have yet to caress my station
so put off the long vacation
snuggle up to isolation
beating heart media nation
awaits the next great sensation
in the voices of vexation
anarchy becomes temptation
nah nah….
more to come /evolved from failed poem to potential song
Universal torment is the nature of the game.
Sometimes it’s right, and then the rules just change.
What was, still is, and evermore shall be, but not the same.
And laws, like mad chess pieces, rearrange.
And since the game is run by man, then one must have the rein.
But who appoints that man is still in question.
And what if, at the helm, that man goes visibly insane?
Then who steps forward to make a suggestion?
We dig back through history and analyze commotions,
war, plague, heresy and insurrection.
We vet anger, hatred, greed and other crass emotions,
then boil them down to one big fake election.
A melting pot of irony, grief, graft and family trees
is stirred until it naturally boils over.
And that’s where torment really starts, with people on their knees,
dosed by ennui as devils play red rover.