POEM

–

If you can’t change it,

Complain about it.

Rip it apart tear it to shreds,

Tell them they can stay up,

Then send them to bed.

If they bite you then bite them back,

The world is a shit so you have to attack.

It’s not so hard,

Or it is as it seems,

To acknowledge the basics of human needs.

But we seem to forget,

And instead we reveal,

This platter of crumbs described as a meal.

A pot of honey with no sweetness inside,

A slave to the pound,

We have lost our pride.

This city is dying,

Perhaps it is dead,

And if not let us finish it with a gun to our heads.

I’m tired of gritting my teeth to the bitter ends,

So lets throw this limp heap,

Into the Thames.

I’m out of the game,

The strain was too much,

A bloody carcass,

With a Michael Kors clutch.

Glamour it isn’t,

Beauty it’s not,

But you can’t see through the screen of snot.

Gloopy and green,

You best go with the flow.

In times of past,

We’d have made this a show.

But we rip out our hair,

Because the funding’s not there,

Because Art is dead and robots don’t care.

Quality is gone,

Substance is past,

And we sold our souls just to make us some cash.

But I still have a heart,

Though the world’s torn and bent.

So I’ll keep complaining,

Til to death I am sent.

–

Written by Ted Rogers “Artpornblog”

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