Meaningful Thoughts

The geese.

We're being run by geese.
We can kick them away,
but only if we don't slip
in the stuff along the way.

Everything I've loved
is in this field.
A sort of Tir' 'na' nog
if you would;
But the geese have
overcome it, and
violated it's fertile green.
The grounds are slick from talk.
While the goslings are taught to walk.
All the things they've cove rd.
All the things they've desecrated.
All for the name of morale,
and that never ending quota.
I have nothing to go to,
unless these mess spewers
are banished, and nothing to
look forward to, unless
they all just vanish.
I wish it was not me,
the one slipping in the mess.
Unless of course
I was home,
beating around the nest.
Their webbed feet
are so big, so they
don't slip at all,
But when they have everything, they set
me up to fall.
I'm caught in their
web of filth, though
through thick and thin
they'll see me fit.


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The geese.

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