my self-righteous scribble.



1.


windswept winters, numbing the soul, walking through this life, sidestepping many a pothole,



dreams dreamt when innocent and young, now being  marched to the gallows, to be mutely hung,



remember those moments, freely soaring across the azure sky, to the now where the death march plods on, to be interred in the cold ground to lie,



all those sentiments, visions of joy and peace, now scarred by reality, shorn repeatedly off like used up fleece,



where did those noble aspirations scatter, idealistic principles that burned bright, now seem hardly at all to matter,



why did we end up the way we are, mere husks, bodies regurgitating the daily charade, silent amongst the hoopla of this deadened parade,



finding a job, then hanging onto it for dear life, attempts at paying the bills, settling the never ending rent, trampling over others, till consciences are dumbed down and irretrievably bent,



saving up for retirement, for those fortunate few who can, walking the streets of shame, flinging a few coins in someones hollow tin can,



time flies by, as we hop from work to home, surrendering the humanity once cherished, once felt so deep, only to collapse inebriated, into a dreamless sleep.



2.



can we ever recover that pristine innocence, that belief in a world less cruel, while over flutes of champagne, we guzzle and drool,



are we so lost within ourselves that we no longer give a damn, living in our cocoons, a sterile, frigid sham,



where have our consciences hurried away to, leaving us empty, devoid of the truths we once firmly held, while into the plastic world around us, we have begun to meld,



are we so far gone that we absolve our consciences once a month or two, scribbling cheques to greenpeace and amnesty international too,



both worthy causes if truth be told, who wouldn’t need our charity if weapons of war were not manufactured, bought and sold,



how have we come to this place, where the weak are belittled, while the greed of the 1% is coveted, while humane values lie in cupboards, empty and closeted,



this meagre verse could go on, spilling words onto paper, mere self-righteous rhymes,



soon to be forgotten, as i scurry on, for ever more dollars, nickels, and dimes.





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