I've always known what I wanted to say
but I took too much time and
used too many words to say it.
Maybe they weren't listening.
Maybe I wasn't deserving.
(But, I was.)
Maybe there wasn't enough time for me.
(But. there was.)
The world said:
Economy was a virtue.
Excess was a vice.
I won't cry twice.
Bad girls threw tantrums.
Good girls defined nice.
So long society, good-bye to you, I'm not your child.
I'm not attending the party.
This failed debutante is through.
(But not finished.)
This is a serious poem,
the kind that needs to be read.
I know who I am.
I ain't yet dead.
I'm not nice. Don't even trust in the word.
For much too long we've been tidying up the language.
Using pretty new-fangled words when a fine four lettered one
All so sensibilities don't get singed,
so we would all be more pleasant to listen to.
I've had much too much pleasantry...
seems it coming out of my a**.
For much too long there's been a hitch in our get-a-longs,
instead of pushing forward our getting to's.
Our Eden is in sorrowful need of tending to.
The Tenders, especially those elected,
aren't attending to what they intended to.
Cow-towing and glad-handing is what their business has been rendered to.
You're outta luck if you can't take care of yourself,
for the world does not take care of you.
The World Does Not Teach Itself To Sing.
Separated by oceans, mountains, rivers of ignorance,
and a failure to understand the common-ness of despair,
the new world chorus is fast becoming
a cacophony of I don't care.
But they say...with fingers crossed,
I care. I'm sorry. Have a nice day!
How did the world get this way?
Forgotten are the needs of people, animals, and the planet.
And when you DO have a problem,
pick a selection, push a button, wait on line...
Sorry, but we do not have the time...
to treat you as a person,
(and you might just get disconnected.)
We are much too busy making money
and lying and lying and lying and lying and lying.
The government doesn't govern.
Our "leaders" do not lead.
Their sole stimulation is profit and greed.
Dems and Reps are two peas in a pod.
Outcasts and anarchists are peddling a new
vision of God.
I've had my fill
of the swill
of sermonizing and politicizing.
This is a serious poem.
Zut Alor! (Get Out!)
I've known what to say
Copyright Melissa A Howells/ Meloo of Tilt-a-World
All Rights Reserved by Author written over time but finally written down on
Thursday October 27 2011