SCAVENGERS
Human history has heard of Political psychophants. Psychophants appear to be the scavengers. Yet, they are not too big to be scavengers. The scavengers are like Vultures, who come to eat the crumbs, appear to be big, but are scavengers all the same.
They are to be feared, for they are the cogs in the wheel of progress. They are the house-boys and house-girls to be found in the tail ends of the corridors of power.
That picture you see, but the essence is very functionally destructive. They eat the carcass left by Lions and Tigers; food that should reach the masses of the nation. Implementation problems arise from here. What is left to do the jobs? What is left to provide the basic needs of the citizens?
NOTHING! The needs are not met.
For we now have three layers…they don’t fit. We have the golden layer, the provider of the dough. At least they approve allocation. The silver layer is expected to perform the job, but they take their share. At least they have seen the books doctored. Books, that are invisible. The scavengers form the bronze layer. Whatever they meet, they take but are never able to clean all the meat. The remainder is what reaches the masses, who feel the pain, but do not understand they are the helpless…jobless.
They merely live from hand to mouth.
They ask not, for none will answer. For the golden, silver and bronze layers, as compatible as they are, remain collaborators. None can break this morbid unity.
The masses are just hopeless. They stand and watch as their very survival, subsistence is endangered.
The question is who will help the helpless? Someday, perhaps…someone will.
RITUALISTS
Happening all over the place.
Ritualists running rampage.
Staining whites, painting black pages.
Striking fear in hearts trying to manage.
Beheading, sacrificing…delivering carnage.
Nasty groove, this isn’t boosting our image.
Everyone’s looking…quiet Sages.
We’re holding on to these bars, safer in self-made cages.
Souls locked in fear, afraid to shout in true rage.
Free as we are, we’re still locked in bondage.
How long’s this going to thrive? Ages to ages?
It’s a sick nation that bathes in blood spillage.
Slippery floor…look down! It’s a blood stained stage.
It’s the place of my birth…but I still feel strange.
Everywhere I look, evil moves around in luxury Ranges.
Hoping to survive, we pray for that ripe old age.
