Sinking into a steaming pile of envy...
The feelings burn, yet have no warmth.
Why would we not be thankful
For surviving, so far, on what we have?
Some wolf pulled the wool over our eyes,
And left us so unsatisfied....
Society is rife with fairy tales,
Built up like that fabulous bean stalk,
To put our head deep into these clouds,
And to leave us thirsty, even when it rains.
Trying to paint images in these short bursts,
I'm still relying on too much green -
"The Old Ways die hard,
And I have no moral to relate...
Is that another danger
Of jaded sight, Of blind eyes,
Or of hungry hearts snatching with hate?"