Lullaby

Arbors of clientele,

physiognomies

cast by articulate

leaves.

 

An owl's coo and flutter the coda

as rustling leaves lull us prey 

to strange aspects.

Lockdown Spleen

 

Barricade streets, confine living souls,

you cannot kill the love inside us.

Throw families out into those streets,

starve the poor,

let the elderly perish without a word

from loved ones...

Be clinically cruel as you wish,

it will not kill the love inside us.

You only kindle bonfires that shall 

make motes of your feckless cruelty.

Wealth of Nations

The Gates are horrid, 

built with the bone and sinew

of indigent test subjects.

Far away on private isles

our wealthy benefactors

are deflowering children

or drinking their blood

to procure eternal youth.

In boardrooms quid pro quo

proudly slaughters millions 

to reap robust return.

Pandemic and shutdowns for subjects,

mandating untested but profitable 

vaccines to mint trillions for gatekeepers.